250 Dark Stars
by Neon Genesis
Summary: Tachibana An transfers to Rikkaidai High School, and falls for a boy. Yukimura Sayoko returns to Rikkai, and falls down, down, down. A story of love, tennis, and learning to get back up. KiriAn. NiouOC. Complete.
1. Now You're Here, and You Don't Know Why

Author's Note: This story now has a sequel called **Kick Drum Hearts**. dsfs

* * *

**250 Dark Stars**

_(Give your heart and soul_

_Heart and soul_

_Fighting to remind you)_

…

Tachibana An was fascinated by great people.

Her brother was a great person—a great athlete, and a great leader. A few months ago, he had convinced their parents to let him graduate high school early and enter the professional tennis circuit; he was already making a name for himself as a rookie with potential.

She missed him. Of course she missed him. And yet… this was her chance to be someone other than "Tachibana's little sister." They both had been accepted to Seigaku upon finishing junior high, and Kippei had left for the pro leagues at the end of his second year.

And so An had decided to transfer to Rikkai at the beginning of hers.

~x~

"Classroom 2-B is this way," Hiyono told An, leading her through the crowded halls. It was the first day of the school year: First-years stumbled around, clutching maps of the school; second-years gathered in groups, talking animatedly; and third-years sauntered past them all.

Though she was a second-year, An felt more like the younger students that scurried past her. She couldn't decide whether Rikkai was hugely overwhelming or just overwhelming huge, but was glad either way that she was classmates with Hiyono, who lived in her apartment building. An's aunt had introduced them, and they'd hung out some over the break.

As they were entering their classroom, someone said, "Coming through." The voice was male, arrogant, and faintly impatient. They stepped aside for someone they thought to be an upperclassman—but when the boy brushed past them, An recognized the loping stride and wildly curly black hair of Kirihara Akaya. He was in 2-B as well.

An mulled this over, and decided: _Eff my life._

Hiyono's large brown eyes met An's blue-gray ones. "That was Kirihara Akaya," she explained, misinterpreting the other girl's lingering look at Kirihara as one of interest and not resignation. "He's the ace of the tennis team."

_I know, _An might have said, but didn't. Instead, she just nodded. "Pretty rude."

"Yeah," Hiyono shrugged, and they followed him into the classroom. "He can be kind of a jerk. But he's not a total dick." Her eyes traveled to a good-looking boy messing around with a couple other guys, and the words _Unlike some people _hung unspoken.

An followed Hiyono to a small cluster of girls and got introduced. As the others brought each other up-to-date on the goings-on of the school, she pretended to listen, but her mind was elsewhere.

Being in Kirihara's class was just bad luck. Over the years, her anger towards him had cooled, leaving her with only a conscientious dislike. He'd hurt her brother, yes, but he wasn't worth holding a grudge against. What did a bully like Kirihara matter in the larger scheme of things?

Still, that didn't mean she wanted to be within ten feet of the guy, much less spend every day with him. It was actually a strange notion: Kirihara Akaya in a classroom setting. She could only picture him on a tennis court, harming people, though she knew he didn't still play like that; he'd progressed to the self-actualized states.

Absently, she pulled at the cuffs of her maroon blazer. The Rikkai uniform was formal, sophisticated. She wasn't _against _that, but… it would take some getting used to. Though she was glad to be rid of her Seigaku uniform—the large pink bow hadn't been her style—she missed the sailor uniform she'd had at Fudomine.

Lost in these thoughts, she picked up on the other girls saying something about Yukimura, and began listening automatically. It was a long-ingrained habit, gathering information on her brother's competition. Not that he was playing the high school circuit anymore.

"—and so she's back," one girl finished, toying with a piece of short-cropped black hair. "Surprised she's not in the classroom already."

"She probably wants to make a dramatic entrance," another girl muttered, before glancing around quickly to gauge the others' reaction. Upon seeing that they were covering sly smiles that meant they'd been thinking similarly but hadn't wanted to speak up, she grew bolder. "It's not that I don't like her, really, but I hope she's gotten less… you know."

An blinked. Perhaps she'd just thought she'd heard someone mention Yukimura. Maybe this girl they were talking about simply had a similar name.

"Guess we'll find out," Hiyono said, nodding toward the door. A girl had walked in, and she was the absolute loveliest non-celebrity An had ever seen. She paused upon entering the room, clearly aware of the many eyes on her, and smiled confidently. With a toss of her long, mahogany-colored hair, she strolled over to where a group of boys and girls lounged, Kirihara included.

Hiyono laughed a little. "Seems the same to me." To An she explained, "That's Yukimura Sayoko. She just got back from studying in the United States for a year."

"Yukimura Seiichi, the captain of the boys' tennis team, is her older brother," added the girl with short black hair. "And she's _very_ aware of it."

Which probably meant Sayoko used it to her advantage. So they _had_ been talking about Yukimura, earlier. Just not the Yukimura she'd been expecting. "Does she play tennis too?" An was planning to join the girls' team. The thought of wearing one of Rikkai's yellow jerseys still discomfitted her, but… she couldn't _not _play.

The other girls traded glances. "She did for a couple years," said the girl who'd hoped Sayoko had "gotten less… you know." Pushing honey-colored bangs out of her eyes, she went on, "But I forget how many years ago she quit."

Just then their homeroom teacher walked in, and had them stand so that he could assign their seats. An ended up in the second row, fourth desk over from the window, behind a boy that needed to wash his hair and to the left of the black-haired girl (Ishiko?).

As Yamato-sensei went over classroom expectations, school rules, and announcements, she doodled in her notebook. She liked Hiyono well enough, and could learn to like her friends. It would be a nice change of pace—thus far in her life her friends had been mostly male.

She glanced at the boy sitting in front of Ishiko, the handsome one that Hiyono had regarded so warily when they'd entered the classroom. He caught her eye and smiled, a sly hey-I-noticed-you-noticing-me smile; she returned it casually, then looked back at her notebook.

_Note to self: Avoiding eye-contact may be wise. Look into price of Aviators sunglasses. And/or a paper bag.  
_

~x~

Over the course of the week, An put Operation: Make Friends into action. It wasn't like she wanted to be the most popular girl in school, or even like she wanted a large group of friends—when you had a lot, many turned out to be only semi-friends. But she did want to be on good terms with people.

For the most part, her plan worked. She wasn't charming, but she was friendly and outgoing.

Yukimura Sayoko, it turned out, _was _charming. She must have shared her brother's charisma. She charmed teachers into letting her slip by with half-assed homework, into forgiving her for being inattentive during class. She charmed other students into admiring her, into doing her small favors.

Yet her charm seemed to have an on/off switch. If she didn't care about what you were saying, she made no attempt to hide her disinterest. This happened more often than not; unless she was using her charm, it seemed she was only interested in looking down on anything and everything around her.

"Her brother's so much nicer than she is," remarked Hiyono's honey-haired friend, Kiko, one day during lunch. Kiko was also trying out for the tennis team; she and An had plans to play together that coming Sunday. "God, what I wouldn't do to get Yukimura-senpai to notice me."

An didn't think Yukimura Seiichi was nice at all. His tennis stripped people of their senses, left them with the yips; he allowed his team to do anything at all for the sake of winning. She herself was fiercely competitive, but tennis was still just a _game_. Intentionally harming opponents was not justified.

Well, okay. Sometimes when she was playing someone that came up to the net, and she didn't like the person, she would whip one towards their face. If they didn't get their racquet up in time to block it, it was their fault.

… Mostly.

Still, she smiled teasingly at Kiko. "To get Yukimura-senpai to notice you? You could dye your hair purple. You could wrestle a bear. You could streak through the halls."

Kiko laughed. "I like my hair the way it is, and as for that last suggestion, even Yukimura-senpai isn't _that _hot. The bear idea, though, that might be a keeper."

Hiyono nodded, straight-faced. "Oh, yes. I'm sure he thinks girls are at their most attractive when they've been mauled."

An liked these two. She was also becoming friends with a boy in their class, Kaji Rui. He wasn't as good-looking as Tsujiai Tetsushi, the boy who'd smiled at her that first day, but he had soft gray eyes and was very easygoing, very friendly.

So friendly, in fact, that he was close friends with Kirihara. It was unfathomable to her, but hey, the kid could pick his own friends.

While they were eating, Sayoko walked up to them—to Hiyono, really. Kiko and An she didn't so much as glance at. "Hi," she said, and smiled the smile An had mentally dubbed the dazzle-smile. "That group work we're doing today? I was wondering if you wanted to be in a group with me and some others." She tilted her head to indicate the people she'd been sitting with. Kaji was one, and Kirihara usually was, though he didn't spend his lunch periods in the classroom.

Hiyono smiled back carefully, running a hand through her dark brown hair. "Thanks, but I already said I'd be in a group with these two." She gestured to Kiko and An.

Sayoko smiled sweetly, not seeming put-out or offended in the least. "Okay. Maybe some other time."

"Maybe some other time."

Sayoko turned to walk away, but An spoke up, just because she could. She _hated _when people pointedly ignored others, as if they were nothing. "Hi, we never actually met. I'm Tachibana An."

Sayoko blinked once, slowly, and looked at An expressionlessly, her bright blue eyes unreadable. Then she smiled—not the dazzle-smile, and not even its less intense cousin, the glitter-smile. This was a cool smile, one that walked the line between friendly and unfriendly. She extended a hand to shake. Her nails were bitten to the quick. "Yukimura Sayoko. Nice to meet you."

An met her gaze warily, thinking, _Nice, indeed._

~x~

When school ended that day, she stayed after class to discuss an essay with the teacher. She'd never been great when it came to language arts, and Rikkai's curriculum was particularly demanding; she would have her work cut out for her, once tennis started.

As she was leaving the building, someone ran past her, knocking her into the wall.

Somehow, it didn't surprise her that it was Kirihara Akaya.

He kept on going without a word, his tennis bag hanging off one shoulder, his backpack, half-zipped and spilling papers, slung over the other. He was headed toward the tennis courts.

An glared at his back. "That's okay! I was _hoping _someone would come along and slam me against the building!"

He glanced over his shoulder, green eyes surprised, before he grinned, gave a two-fingered salute, and kept on going, leaving a trail of papers in his wake.

He ran until he crested a hill and was out of her sight.

~x~

On Sunday, An woke around 8 a.m. and pulled on sweatpants (she slept in an overlarge T-shirt and underwear). Venturing out of her room, she found that her aunt Amu was already awake and dressed, her laptop set up on the coffee table.

At her approach, Amu glanced up and smiled, before directing her attention back to what she was working on. "Good morning."

"Morning," An smiled, a little shyly. Amu was her mother's younger sister. An had never spent much time with her, but she was the only relative An had in the Kanagawa region. Once her brother had decided to go pro, An wasn't sure what had made her so dead-set on going to Rikkai. They had an excellent academic program, a fantastic athletic program…

But for the most part, she thought she did it to show that she could. To show that a girl who'd spent most of her life in public school could fit in with the elite, could even show them up. To prove that the people that had hurt her brother, the people that had crushed her team, couldn't intimidate her.

After initial reluctance, her aunt had agreed to let An live with her, clearing out what had used to be her office and turning it into a bedroom. Amu worked for an insurance company, and dedicated most of her life to the job.

An poured herself some orange juice and drank it at the counter. As she placed the glass in the dishwasher she said, "A friend and I are going to play tennis today. If that's okay," she added, still unsure of how much she needed to clear with this new authority figure.

"That's fine," was all her aunt said.

Their court-time was scheduled for eleven to one, but An, passing the door to Hiyono's apartment on her way out, left over an hour early, so that she could wander around the district, further familiarize herself with her new home.

It was a nice day, and she wore a black-trimmed white tennis skirt and a pale yellow hoodie. Even after her wandering, she arrived at the club early, and sat in the lobby, reading a magazines.

"Hey," someone said cheerfully, and An looked up to find Kiko, in a blue athletic jacket with a matching skirt. Halfway through an article on Rafael Nadal, An returned the magazine and smiled, following Kiko to the front desk. The other girl showed her membership card, and An handed over her half of the fee.

The outdoor courts were lined up in a row, with a chain-link fence enclosing them all together in a huge rectangle. An and Kiko took number three, which had just been vacated. They warmed up for about twenty minutes, then agreed to play a two-set match. An learned quickly that Kiko was good, with a lefty slice-serve and excellent ball control. But An was far better, more aggressive, and outran and outhit the other girl.

The match ended with a final score of 6 - 4, 6 - 2 when a forehand of Kiko's sailed just long of the baseline, and they met at the net to shake hands. The hazel-eyed girl was flushed, breathing through her mouth, while An took deep, even breaths, tired but not winded.

"You're really good," Kiko said warmly. "I think you might even have a shot at being a regular." She seemed sincere, and An was impressed by how well the other girl had taken the loss. She herself was sometimes known to be… a less than gracious loser.

Sometimes.

"Thanks. That serve of yours is really killer." It had never occurred to An that she _wouldn't _be a regular. She knew the Rikkai girls were as indomitable as the boys' team, but she also knew that, although she didn't have the special shots or elaborate style that were often found on the boys' circuit, she was a damn good player.

Still. Would she have the discipline to stay on the team if she didn't get to be a regular?

Turning to pick up the balls, she was startled to see Marui Bunta, Jackal Kuwahara, Yagyuu Hiroshi, and Yanagi Renji hanging around outside the club, clearly waiting for a court. As she knelt down, Sanada Genichirou appeared with Kirihara, Niou Masaharu trailing them. They all wore normal athletic wear, not their jerseys, and talked casually amongst themselves.

Marui yanked on a curl of Kirihara's, and the grappling that ensued was cut short by a reprimand from Sanada. "Check out who's here," she commented to Kiko, when the shorter girl drifted over. Kiko followed her gaze, and beamed.

"That probably means Yukimura-senpai is here, too!"

"I would assume so." And wondered how long they'd been there, whether they'd seen her and Kiko play. No matter how good she was, it still made her self-conscious, the thought that players as unbelievable as they were might have seen her play. No matter their shortcomings as human beings.

As they exited the court, An noticed that the people who'd been on the court beside them were finishing as well. The Rikkai regulars must have scheduled time on both courts—which made sense, considering how many of them there were.

An kept her eyes resolutely ahead of her as she and Kiko walked past the boys, but somehow she accidentally made eye-contact with Jackal. He smiled at her, his white teeth flashing against his dark skin. "You get good topspin on the ball."

So he, at least, had seen her play. "Um, thank you. You… your head is really shiny."

A pause.

"I felt like I should say something nice back," she explained, aware that now the whole team was looking at her with confusion and amusement. Beside her, Kiko stifled giggles.

"… Thank you," Jackal said slowly.

An nodded, and shifted her weight from foot to foot. "So… yeah." She couldn't help it: the boys _did _intimidate her, at least a little, at least when they were all in a group. She started walking again, Kiko following after a beat.

On their way into the club, she almost ran into Yukimura. His eyes widened fractionally, and he stepped aside, motioning for her to go ahead. "Thanks," she mumbled, and only as she was walking past him did she notice that Sayoko—in a skirt and heels, not tennis garb—was behind her brother.

The two girls locked eyes, each equally surprised to see the other. For some reason, An didn't want to look away first, but—she had to, else she'd walk into the wall.

Walls just really weren't her thing.

* * *

This will be like **SFUtS **in some ways-a few things will be recycled. I wanted this story to be more mature, though.

Disclaimer: I do not own _Prince of Tennis_, or Green River Ordinance's "Lost in the World" (lyrics at the top).


	2. And I Hope You'll Let it Burn

Author's Note: Chapter edited somewhat.

* * *

**250 Dark Stars**

_(__Hello, hello_

_Anybody out there?_

_'Cause I don't hear a sound)_

…

The next day during lunch, An was returning from the bathroom when she encountered Marui Bunta. He grinned, smacking his gum in his mouth as he trotted over to walk beside her.

"Hey, shiny-head girl. How goes it?"

She made a face. Of all the stupid things that could have come out of her mouth… "It goes, senpai."

"Cool, cool. Learnin' stuff?"

"Oodles and oodles of stuff," she responded dryly, eyeing him warily. "Is there something you need?"

"Some cake would be nice," he answered immediately, his violet eyes gleaming and amused.

She was wary of him, this acolyte of Yukimura Seiichi, this ruthless tennis player, but— "To which I can only respond, 'Let them have cake.' Unfortunately, I left my last slice in my other blazer."

What the hell, she liked bantering.

He laughed. "Damn shame." When they reached An's classroom, he strode in first, raising his arms with dramatic flair. "Sayoko-channnnn," he called breezily. Everyone looked up, aware of his high social status.

Sayoko set down her lunch. "Marui-senpai," she acknowledged, and walked over to him. "Is there something you need?"

For a moment, the redhead sliced his eyes over to An, clearly recalling how she'd asked him that same question only a minute ago. Then, he dropped low in a theatrical bow. "Your most esteemed elder brother sends his greetings, and hopes to see you at practice today. If, instead, you would rather make the journey home, you are to inform him of your departure."

He straightened, and held a hand out. "It's customary to tip the messenger."

She raised her eyebrows but looked at him levelly, a look that said she was more inclined to shoot the messenger.

"You can owe me one," he suggested, ruffling her hair, until she scowled and swatted his hand away. "Hey, where's Akaya, anyway? He's in this class, isn't he?"

Sayoko lifted a shoulder in a shrug as she smoothed her hair, letting it tumble in waves and wings down her back. "He doesn't eat in here. I figured he went and hung out with you guys during lunch."

"Nope. Well, whatever. He's probably just out mugging people, or something equally Akaya-ish." On that note, he spun around 180 degrees, placed his hands in his pockets, and walked away, whistling.

Immediately, many of their classmates flocked to Sayoko. "Yukimura-san, _will _you be watching your brother's team practice today? Can I sit with you?" "Yukimura-san, if you are staying for practice, afterwards can I walk home with you and your brother? I think I live near you!" "Yukimura, can you introduce me to Marui-senpai? Please?"

An, who had taken her seat while Marui was relaying the message to Sayoko, shook her head at their classmates' vapidity. _And the award for shamelessness goes to…_

Sayoko's response to the barrage of requests was a small, superior smile. "We'll see."

Okay, so the award probably went to one Yukimura Sayoko.

~x~

Tennis tryouts were held after school. An, Kiko, and what An suspected had to be at least half of the school's total female population flooded into the clubroom, fighting over locker-space and changing into athletic wear. Fifteen minutes later, they lined up on the courts.

A tall, toned girl with a square face and quick brown eyes introduced herself as Fuyumi Akari, the captain. "For this first week, we'll do exercises and drills. I want to gauge your fitness, and see your strokes. Next week, we'll hold ranking matches."

"Just because you were a regular last year doesn't guarantee you a spot this year," added the shorter, curvy girl beside her. This was Shimizu Tsubame, the vice-captain. When a girl raised her hand, she went on, "Yes, first-years can compete as well. We're looking to assemble the strongest team possible, regardless of age." The hand went down.

Ten laps later, they started swing exercises, miming hitting a forehand over and over until An wanted to scream and/or start a flash-mob. Luckily, a greater power intervened: Shimizu pulled her out of the line. "You obviously don't need to work on your strokes," said the older girl, trying to get her thick, dyed-blond hair to stay secured in a ponytail. "I need you to go grab some cones so we can do precision drills later."

"Where are the cones?"

Shimizu scowled. "They're _supposed _to be kept in the athletic storage room, but they're not. They're probably in the boys' clubhouse—they act like all the equipment is specially for them. Anyway, you'll have to go and ask Yukimura or Sanada or somebody."

An repressed a sigh. _Yeah, that figures. Least I get out of swing practice, though._

She jogged past the track and around the corner. Just as the girls did, the boys had five courts, bleachers, and a clubhouse. A legion of boys practiced swings on the grass, and beyond them others were hitting against a ball-machine, and still others were—using the cones. Damn it.

Heading over to the courts, she passed Jackal, who smiled at her in recognition before turning back to correcting grips. Maybe she wouldn't hold his teammates against him; he seemed really nice.

The courts were constructed on a lower level than the normal ground, with steps leading down, kind of like an underground pool. She stuck to the edge, trying to keep out of the way so that no one would smack her in the face with his backswing. As it was, she had to avoid tripping on tennis balls as well as watch out for ones flying through the air. The courts probably became less hectic when some of the boys got cut.

On court 3, the cones were being aimed at by the fifteen or so boys assembled. Yanagi stood opposite them, feeding balls out of a wire-crate. Sanada stood, arms crossed, by the other net-post, his face still and unreadable under his cap. She wondered whether the hat was rubbing all his hair away, whether he'd go bald early.

It wasn't an issue she would bring up with him.

Approaching him, she ventured, "Senpai?"

"Yes?" He didn't look away from the boy whose turn it was.

"Shimizu-fukubuchou sent me to get the cones," she explained, and waited for a response along the lines of "Well, obviously they're in use right now," to which her response would be, "Not my problem, bitch!" And then she'd hit him over the head with a frying-pan, grab the cones, and run.

Except no. Just no.

She realized he'd just asked her something. "I'm sorry, what?"

This time he deigned to look at her—probably to show his annoyance and distaste. "How many do you need?"

Shit. "Uh, well…"

Sanada closed his eyes, as if pained. "Nevermind. Renji, that's enough of this drill," he called to Yanagi. Then he said to the other boys, "Now show me your backhands down the line," and strode over to further instruct them.

So was she supposed to just take the cones? Yanagi started stacking them, and she hurried over to help, soon holding them all in her hands. "Thank you, senpai," she bowed her head, allowing her hair to _whoosh _down around her face. She liked things that _whoosh_ed.

"Do you need all of them?" he inquired, looking at her with those unsettling, seemingly-closed eyes. "The rest are in the clubhouse."

There were more girls trying out than boys, probably because not many people thought they stood a chance of making it as a regular on the boys' team. "I think bringing all of them would be good."

"Very well. See the boy over there? Ask him to bring the rest of the cones out of the clubhouse for you. He knows where they are."

That was how she ended up walking over to Kirihara Akaya.

He was leaning against the low wall between the courts and the normal ground level, his hands on the edge, boosting his shoulders up near his ears. In front of him, boys demonstrated their forehands against a ball machine. "No, that's terrible," he told the boy that had just finished, who scowled at him as if to say, _Well, can you show me how to make it better?_

A lazy "Next" was all Kirihara said, before skewing his gaze sideways as An reluctantly advanced. His eyes were hooded, and he seemed somewhat amused. "Trying out for the boys' team?"

She looked at him flatly. "Why, would that make you feel threatened?"

He just snorted. "What do you want, I'm busy here."

She held up the cones. "You're supposed to get the rest of these out of the clubhouse for me."

He rolled his eyes, but straightened. "Try not to suck anymore while I'm gone," he called to the boys, before pushing himself up on the wall so that he was standing on the normal ground level, looking down at her expectantly. "Well, come on. Let's move it along."

The stairs leading up were all the way on the other side of the courts, but the wall Kirihara had just scaled so easily came up to her chest. He saw her predicament, and smirked. "Need a hand?"

She didn't answer, instead set the cones on top, jumped a little and pushed herself up, the rough pavement digging into her palms. Once she'd clambered all the way up, she brushed herself off, grabbed the cones, and stood, rather pleased with herself. Little victories.

"Do you want me to applaud, or pat you on the back?" Kirihara wanted to know. When all he got was a cold look, he sighed and started towards the clubhouse. "Not much fun, are you."

_I'll show you how fun I am when I shove a tennis ball down your throat, _she thought grimly, but without much conviction. She couldn't muster up any real animosity toward the boy, just resentment. That didn't mean she wanted to banter with him, though.

As they walked toward the clubhouse, An glanced at the bleachers. Many students were watching, but Sayoko sat by herself, which must have been by choice, for when her brother went over and spoke to her briefly, the other spectators looked like they would have given anything to be there.

But Yukimura Sayoko wasn't _her _problem.

Kirihara entered the clubhouse and she waited outside. Both of Rikkai's tennis teams were almost obscenely provided for, with their courts and equipment and space. She couldn't imagine how much sponsorship money went into it all, but she could understand the sponsors' and the school's faith in Rikkai, in a Rikkai victory.

They were impressive in a lot of ways, these people, these tennis players. Interesting, impressive people—but not always for the right reasons.

One of those reasons, it seemed, was not their punctuality. It was taking Kirihara a _really _long time just to grab a few things.

An put the cones down—she felt dumb just standing there holding them—and picked up a tennis racquet that had been leaning against the side of the clubhouse. It was too big for her, but she swung it a few times, imagining herself slamming a forehand right past an imaginary opponent.

_And the crowd goes wild, _she thought, smiling a little as she held the racquet in her arms like a guitar, strumming away and hopping around on one foot, a silly, happy victory dance.

"And here I thought you had all the personality of dirt," came a voice, and she knew that it was Kirihara, and that she looked like an idiot, and _how _did she get herself into these situations?

Rigidly she set the racquet back down and picked up the cones. When she turned to face the green-eyed boy, she kept her head down so her hair would partially obscure her red cheeks. He looked supremely amused, even more so when she grabbed the stack of extra cones from his hands and stalked off toward the girls' courts.

"What, no encore?" he called after her, and she could practically _hear _his grin.

She made a rude gesture at him without turning around, but he only laughed.

~x~

"Tachibana-kun," her math teacher called, and An approached his desk. He was giving them their graded tests. Hers had a 95 scrawled across the top. "Best in the class," he said with a small smile. Yamato-sensei was a middle-aged, somewhat paunchy man, stern but not unkind. At that moment, his watery brown eyes were approving. "Well done."

She beamed, bowed slightly. "Thank you, sensei." Math had always been her best subject.

As she returned to her seat, she passed Sayoko's desk. The other girl was looking at her test, her mouth tight, and An could only guess that she'd gotten a bad grade.

_Maybe if you didn't charm your way into getting shoddy homework accepted, you'd have worked harder and done better, _she thought, kind of smug. As if hearing this, Sayoko looked up, and shot her an icy, challenging look. And it—it _cut _her, a little bit, the intensity of that look.

But she just took her seat. It was disconcerting, the effect Sayoko could inspire with just a glance. She'd heard her brother could do the exact same thing, probably to an even greater degree.

The students around her used her paper as an answer-key. After she showed Ishiko how to do number 37, Tsujiai Tetsushi knelt by her desk, his stylish brown hair practically tickling her nose as he copied down her work for a few of the problems. When he was done, he looked at her mischievously. "Might have to cheat off you next time."

He was kidding, and she made some sort of airy remark. Inwardly she was a little wary, having pegged him as a shameless flirt and sort of a jerk. She figured it stemmed from his being the most popular boy in class, save for Kirihara, but Kirihara kept a rather low profile in the classroom. Mostly he only brought attention to himself when the teachers railed on him for sleeping.

Currently he had his chin propped on his fist, listening to something Kaji Rui was saying. Rui met her eyes and smiled, and she smiled back, pleased. Unfortunately, he waved for her to come over, which she did reluctantly, stopping in front of Kirihara's desk.

He smirked at her, her racquet-guitar solo plainly in mind, but didn't say anything about it. Instead, Rui spoke. "Tachibana, you got the best grade, right? Can you explain this problem? We've"—he gestured between himself and Kirihara—"been trying to figure it out, but it's not making any sense."

He pointed at a problem on Kirihara's test, which had an 82 at the top. "Oh, I got that one wrong, too. I think I understand it now, though. See, you take…" she picked up Kirihara's pencil and scribbled the calculations in the margin, finishing by circling the answer, a quick flick of her wrist. "Get it?"

Rui took a moment to further examine her work, but Kirihara nodded. "Right, because you have to—right. Okay. I totally had that." She looked at the answer he'd put down, which was _way _off, and leveled a deadpan look at him. He scribbled out his old answer, writing 'Just kidding' beside it, and she shook her head, miffed at her own inclination to smile.

"I get it now, too," Rui said slowly. "Thanks, Tachibana." Kirihara didn't express any gratitude, just put his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair. But his gratitude wouldn't mean anything to her, anyway.

~x~

She stopped by her locker before going to tennis practice. The hallways were practically empty as people either went home or to an after-school activity, but as she dialed in her combination she heard voices coming from the stairwell.

Glancing behind her, she had a partially-obscured view of Niou Masaharu and a pretty, blushing girl. The latter was mumbling something as she fidgeted with her hands, while the former stood hipshot, his expression openly bored. When the girl finished speaking, he said something lowly, and the girl's head jerked up. That was when the conversation grew louder, audible to An.

"But, Niou-kun…" she stumbled, sounding on the verge of tears. Kind of pathetic. "Masaha—"

He interrupted, his voice razor-blade sharp. "Did I give you permission to call me that?"

"N-no…"

With a faint sneer he said, "Exactly. I don't even know you."

Now her eyes did fill up with tears. "We're in the same—"

"Whatever. I don't care." He exhaled through his mouth, almost a sigh. "Go on, then. Get out of here."

Wordlessly she turned and fled, running right past An, her face scrunched up tight with misery and humiliation. An felt embarrassed for her, and wished she hadn't witnessed the cruel rejection. Had it happened to her, knowing that someone had seen would have made her feel ten times worse.

Absorbed in these musings, she was still turned toward the stairwell when Niou emerged, and they locked eyes. She would have faced her locker again, but he'd already seen her, and those pale, sharp eyes pinned her like a bug to a card.

Damn it.

"Got something you want to say?" His head tilted, he strolled toward her.

She opened her mouth, then closed it, which made him smirk. And _that _made her angry, enough so that she spoke up. "You didn't have to be so mean to that girl."

"I didn't," he agreed easily enough, though his voice was flippant, not one bit repentant. "Not that it's any of your business."

He had her there. It was just in her nature, she supposed, to intercede when someone was being treated badly. Even if it was just some random girl, and even if it meant talking back to someone like Niou Masaharu. Recalling the Kantou finals from a few years before, when Kikumaru had been carried off the court in a stretcher, she eyed him warily.

He noticed that, and drew a little closer. "Do I intimidate you?" he wanted to know, sounding as if the prospect entertained him just a bit.

Yes, he did. But— "What kind of question is that?" she blustered. "What if we all just went around, asking that to people? 'Hi, I'm Tachibana An, nice to meet you. Do I intimidate you?' What the hell?"

At that, he regarded her neutrally. "Hmm," was all he said, before walking away without a backward glance.

An shook her head. _I just need to stop making eye-contact with people. _Distracted by this thought, a textbook she'd taken out of her locker slipped from her hand, landing on her foot. She gasped, and clutched the injured appendage, hopping around awkwardly.

_Damn _it.

~x~

Hiyono's softball practice ended at the same time as An's practice, and they walked home together. They were talking about their respective sports when the Hiyono said, "You practically light up when you talk about tennis. Is that why you transferred here? For tennis?"

"… Kind of." An was unwilling to get into it, partly because she still didn't completely understand it herself. At least some component of the decision was just—whim.

Much to An's apprecation, Hiyono did not press for a better answer, only went on, "Well, it makes you fit in, at least. With all the tennis-crazed people we have at school, I mean. Kirihara and the like."

"I guess so," An muttered, thinking, _I love tennis more than anything, but it's still just a game. Some people don't realize that._

* * *

Chapter Two! _That's _what's up.

Disclaimer: I do not own _Prince of Tennis_, or Jason Walker's "Echo" (lyrics at the top).


	3. You Can Blame it on Your Heartbeat

**250 Dark Stars**

_(I've been losing my mind_

_I've been living a lie_

_I've been running away for so long)_

…

"Sayoko, hurry up," her brother called. "I'm leaving in fifteen minutes, with or without you."

He was bluffing. Well—less of a bluff and more of an idle threat, if that made sense. There wasn't anything the Child of God _wouldn't _do, if he'd already said he would. She suspected he just liked keeping people on their toes.

Imagine having to live with such a person.

She opened her door. "Okay, the zit on my forehead: Noticeable or blinding?"

"Blinding." He walked past to go down the stairs. Though she knew he was teasing, she scowled and reentered her room to disguise the blemish with makeup. Her bangs would probably hide it, but—still.

On the way downstairs, she wriggled into her shoes while brushing her hair, and from his location on the kitchen counter, their cat looked distinctly unimpressed by her multitasking. Still, she smiled at him, and set the brush down.

"Hey, baby, come here." She picked him up. He was a fluffy gray thing, and his name was Wimble—short for Wimbledon. His tail was a couple inches shorter than normal; he'd gotten it caught in a door while she was in America. The first thing she said upon reentering her house was: "What happened to my _cat_?"

"Oh, who has a stumpy tail, you do, you do," she crooned, petting him as he squirmed. "Stumpy stumpy stumpy tail, oh yes it is, stump—_fuck_!" The son of a bitch had swiped his claws over her hand, digging in deep, and she dropped him like a hot potato.

Clutching her hand, she glared at her brother, who was smiling a small, amused smile in what was clearly not a show of brotherly concern. Nonetheless, he got the first-aid kit as she took a seat at the counter, inspecting her hand and feeling betrayed.

Two minutes later, her brother was re-doing the bloody, bandaged mess she'd made of her hand, quietly sending _You are so hopeless _vibes. Because he would know, what with how perfect and perfect and even more perfect he was.

Sayoko tucked away the dark knot of resentment in her heart, and he finished, putting the first-aid kit back as she got up to get a protein bar. She planned to take it to school, but her brother thought she was going to sit down and eat it, and said impatiently, "You can eat that on the way."

Immediately, she peeled it open. "Or I can eat it here." It was immature of her, she knew, childish and petty. But.

He looked at her hard, face composed but eyes steely. When Yukimura Seiichi gave orders, even suggestions, it was a rare thing that they went unheeded. Still, she had only been back in the country for a few weeks, and her brother was making a concerted effort to get along with her.

She stared right back at him, secretly uneasy and unsure, the way she always felt when she defied him. It was weird, but it was infinitely harder to stand up to her brother than her parents.

After a moment, her brother turned and walked into the living room. It was her victory, she knew, but it only made her feel small and selfish. No matter how much of a brat she was, her brother hardly ever sunk to her level. He was the bigger person, the better person.

So what else was goddamn new?

Walking to school a few minutes later, they were silent. She knew her brother was probably reflecting on the year she'd be gone, when he could leave whenever he wanted. He was probably regretting her return, or maybe thinking a year ahead, when he'd graduate and leave her behind.

Sayoko looked at him out of the corner of her eye, and saw the boy that had bought her ice cream, that had taught her tennis, that had quieted her when their parents fought. A memory surfaced, a brief recollection from an unimportant day, but it had stuck with her over the years.

She was young, maybe six or so, with stubby, popsicle-sticky fingers. Her family was at the park, and she was playing tag with her brother. She was chasing after him as fast as she could, hands stretched out, reaching reaching reaching, but her brother was always too fast, too far ahead.

She didn't win that game.

Presently, she shuffled along, her head down—only to see another maroon blazer, and straighten, tossing her hair back. It was only Yanagi, though, and the tall boy patted her on the head before speaking to her brother. She didn't listen, only watched as her brother's face became interested, engaged.

They entered the campus, and lingered outside the main building. The two boys were involved in their conversation, and she glanced around, noticing all the other students noticing them—Yanagi and Yukimura of the Big Three, and then Yukimura's little sister.

In her mind, she was reaching, and her brother was still too far ahead.

"… and so I spilled juice all over the floor, and I actually _slipped_ in it." That girl with the blue-gray eyes, Tachibana An, passed by, laughing. She was with Nakamaru Hiyono, and must have felt Sayoko's eyes on her, for she glanced at the other girl, before turning around unconcernedly.

Sayoko didn't like her. She was new, and pretty, and sure of herself. She knew that those weren't grounds to dislike someone on, that she was just feeling threatened, but she couldn't help it. She couldn't just _decide _to like someone.

A boy in her class whose name she forgot also walked by with a few friends, and smiled at her shyly. He was kind of cute, but she didn't see any reason to be receptive to him, and let her expression remain distant and uninterested. Hurt, he looked away.

Except—shit. She remembered the math homework they'd been assigned, how she hadn't understood it at all and had left it unfinished. She could talk her way out of most things, but doubted she'd be able to get away with this one, and her grade couldn't take the hit.

"Wait," she called, and waved see-you to Yanagi and her brother. The boy turned around, surprised, and she motioned for him to come and talk with her by a bench. His friends clapped him on the shoulder, impressed, and drifted away.

He approached slowly, and in his eyes she saw the same uncertainty that she felt when confronting her brother. It gave her something to think about, but she smiled one of her better smiles at him, and he smiled back reflexively.

"Hey," she said brightly. "Excited for another day of school?" They talked about their classes, shared a joke about one of their teachers, before Sayoko drew attention to her bandaged hand by rubbing it in a carefully absentminded manner. When he expressed concern, she laughed as if embarrassed and told him about her cat, exaggerating the story, making it more entertaining.

And just like that, she had his homework to copy. It was so simple, so disgustingly simple.

~x~

That Sunday, An's alarm went off at seven; she wanted to make the most out of her day off. When she shuffled out of her room, she found a note on the kitchen counter: _Will be in the office today. I'll pick up something for dinner. –Aunt Amu_

An shook her head. _That woman is going to die of a stress-related heart attack at the ripe old age of thirty-five._

After showering, she pulled on jeans, tennis shoes, and, over a white camisole, a hot pink Nike jacket with two black stripes running along the sleeves. Simple black clips kept her hair out of her face. Later in the day she and Kiko were playing tennis again.

She wouldn't play too many more matches against the honey-haired girl, though. It was already clear who was better, and the results would become increasingly one-sided if they continued to play each other. She'd have to find a stronger opponent.

On her way out, she turned and glanced back into the apartment. It was quiet, and still, and hardly looked lived-in. She thought of her house the way it had been, with her and her brother and her parents and their dog, Gokutora, and felt a pang. Quickly, she closed the door behind her.

Her first stop was the library, where she got a few books she needed for school, as well as a biography of Leo Tolstoy, just because. With them in her tennis bag, she headed to an arcade, where she got her butt kicked by zombie aliens but thrashed random people at air hockey.

When her last opponent was sent packing, she couldn't keep a self-satisfied smile off her face. _Let's give it up for the Air Hockey Queen of the World! Anyone? Anyone?_

For whatever reason, not every person within a ten-kilometer radius broke into thunderous applause. It rather baffled her.

A little after twelve, she used her phone to locate the café where she was meeting Hiyono for lunch—the other girl had requested help with math. It was a small, trendy place with a huge glass window, and through this window she saw that her friend was waiting for her.

An walked in and took a seat across from her. "Hey. What's up?"

The brown-haired girl tugged at the collar of her green cardigan. "I just took my little brother to buy stuff for a school project. Supposedly. What kind of project requires firecrackers, an encyclopedia, and two cans of spray-cheese?"

"I don't know, but it sounds _awesome_," laughed An. "Let me know if he needs any help." They began working, but took a break when their meal arrived.

"So how does Kanagawa compare to where you moved from?" Hiyono wanted to know, taking a bite of her salad.

An fingered the lacy white tablecloth. "I like it so far. I mean, I left behind a lot of friends in Tokyo, but…" she shrugged. They could visit her, and she could visit them. And, surprisingly enough… she didn't miss them that much, at least not yet. She enjoyed their company when she was with them, but when not…

It seemed to be an out of sight, out of mind sort of thing. Did that make her detached and uncaring? Or were her friends, Kamio-kun, Ibu-kun, Momoshiro-kun and the rest, just kind of forgettable?

"It must have been so fun, living in Tokyo. All the stuff to do."

"It's not really that there's more _stuff _to do, just more places to do it. Like, more movie theaters, more arcades. Still the same things." An was enjoying the sunshine coming in when she noticed Sayoko across the street, exiting a bookstore. She and Hiyono were clearly visible through the window, but she wasn't sure whether the other girl saw them.

The conversation turned to school. "Everything is just really… high-pressure," An was saying. "The classes, and sports, and even the way people interact. Like everyone wants to be the best, to beat everyone and impress them at the same time."

Hiyono smiled. "We're one of the best high schools in the country. We're all competing to get into the best universities, to get the best jobs. Chances are, the people we go to high school with? We'll be seeing at least some of them in the same circles for the rest of our lives. It's expected."

An thought about that, sipping her smoothie. "So, maybe we should do something unexpected. Wanna move to Australia with me? We'll start up a school for reformed public displayers of affection."

"I'll have my people call your people," Hiyono deadpanned, but An knew she would stay on the course expected of her, would go on to be a lawyer or something, just another ambitious young woman running to a meeting with her hair in a bun and a cell phone pressed to her ear.

And there wasn't anything wrong with that. It just made An feel… different. Like she wasn't quite on the same frequency as the rest of the world.

She didn't have time to ponder this, though, as at that moment Yukimura Sayoko waltzed in, trailed by her brother, Sanada, and Yanagi. She didn't so much as glance at An and Hiyono, but somehow An knew the other girl was aware of them. Had she come just to flaunt the impressive company she kept?

An didn't know her well, but it seemed like something she would do. And she had to admit, the group of good-looking teenagers made an impact. The waitress serving them blushed and stammered while shooting concerned glances at the much prettier Sayoko, who wore a royal blue dress that played up her eyes.

Sharing a look, An and Hiyono returned to math, and finished up twenty minutes later. "Thanks, Tachibana-kun," Hiyono smiled as they gathered their belongings. "I understand a lot better now."

"No problem," An replied as they headed for the door, passing Sayoko's table on the way. As the two girls walked by, Sayoko spoke up pleasantly.

"Are you two leaving already?"

_No, we're approaching the door with all of our stuff for some other reason, _An thought as she and her friend turned to face the other girl, who looked at them expectantly, eyebrows raised. The boys at her table had glanced up as well.

"Yeah, we've been here a while." Hiyono's smile was polite. "Time to leave."

Sayoko's return smile was twice as bright and three times as cool. She maintained eye-contact with An. "That's a shame." She seemed about to say something else, but her brother, having noticed the tennis bag slung over the chestnut-haired girl's shoulder, spoke first.

"A tennis player," he observed, with a look of faint interest. Sayoko's smile remained fixed in place, but her eyes betrayed her.

"Nah, I keep a soccer ball in here," An joked—then blinked. Being friendly with Yukimura Seiichi was not on her to-do list. He'd just caught her off-guard, she supposed, with attractive features and an agreeable demeanor that belied his harsh mentality.

"Well, I'll see you guys at school tomorrow." This was the dismissal Sayoko gave them—polite, but with the unassailable tone of a queen.

Not that An wanted to stay.

As they left, she heard Yukimura murmur to his sister, "Friends of yours?" And, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sayoko's response was a small, tight smile.

~x~

"Game, set, match, Katsuragi! 6 – 3, 6 – 7, 6 – 4!"

_Goddamn it, _thought An, approaching the net to shake hands. _Damn it damn it damn it fucking damn it._

"Good match, senpai," she said, smiling stiffly. "Thank you for playing me."

"It was fun," laughed Katsuragi Mikuzu, using her sleeve to wipe the sweat off her face. "That forehand of yours is a piece of work. Really impressive."

"Thank you," An said again, thinking, _Don't act like this match was just a way to pass the time, and don't compliment me. I just played my heart out and _lost.

Outside the court, Fuyumi intercepted them. "You both played well," said the quiet, thoughtful captain. "Katsuragi, go do backhand drills on court three. Tachibana…" She tilted her head, silently considering the younger girl. "Tachibana, take a break."

"Yes, captain," An muttered, and brushed by without another word, leaving the tennis courts and passing the track, breaking into a run at some point. She tried to run off her frustration, tried to run away from the loss, but she couldn't, and ended up on the far side of the school, hitting against a brick wall.

_Thwap._

It was Thursday. The ranking matches had begun on Monday, and her first match, as luck would have it, had been against the Fuyumi. She had lost in straight sets.

_Thwap._

She hadn't come to Rikkai expecting to be the best—their girls' team was almost as renowned as their boys'. And she _had _made it onto the regulars; of the people she'd played in the ranking matches, Fuyumi was the only one she'd lost to. But on Wednesday the captain had had her play Shimizu Tsubame, the vice-captain, and An had lost to her as well.

_Thwap._

So she'd lost to the captain and vice-captain, the two best players. Okay. That wasn't _unbearable_. But today she'd played Katsuragi Mikuzu, another regular—and lost!

_Thwap._

What pissed her off most was that it had been a damn close match, one she could have won. If she'd been a little faster, a little more consistent, a little more aggressive. If she'd just played a little better, come on, just a second faster, come on, faster, get it in, hit it, come on come _on, _Tachibana, hit the damn ball!

_Thwap!_

She whirled, her racquet in her hand, and found Kirihara Akaya behind her, his hand help up to his face, having caught the ball that would otherwise have nailed him in the forehead. She'd hit it too hard, and it'd bounced wildly off the wall, toward Kirihara, who must have been walking behind her.

He wore his jersey, and seemed about to make a testy remark, before noticing the look on her face. "What's wrong with _you_?"

An narrowed her eyes at him. This was the _last _thing she needed. "None of your business."

Kirihara smirked. "What, your _boy_friend break up with you?"

Her smile was thin and brittle, but her eyes sparked with anger. "Yeah, actually, because I broke his arm. Want me to show you how?"

He just grinned. "That's kind of cute, how you think you're so big and tough, when you're actually like, the size of my little finger." She gave him the _middle_finger. Unfazed, he went on, "So you lost, huh." There was something frank and knowing about his tone, maybe even something empathetic.

She stared at him, taken aback by his understanding of her situation. Then again, it was probably pretty obvious. Whatever. "Yeah."

He blinked at her owlishly. "Did you lose 'cause you suck, or 'cause you played someone stronger than you?"

An made a face, ran a hand jerkily through her hair, leaving it disheveled. "Neither. I mean, she wasn't—I just—if I only would have—" She shook her head. "Goddamn it."

"Yeah," he laughed. "Tell me about it." He looked at her in amusement, and she met his eyes with surprise, and something passed between them, something like camaraderie, something that spoke of first-hand knowledge of tennis and losing, of swinging and missing, of sprinting for the ball when you knew you would get there too late.

His eyes were very green.

And then the moment passed, and Kirihara shrugged. "Anyway. Kicking stuff always makes _me _feel better." He waited a second, and when she didn't reply, he shrugged again, started to walk away. "Later."

He'd only gone a few steps before he turned, walked backwards. "Here." He tossed her the ball she'd hit at him, and she caught it, held it to her chest. He kept walking backwards, and again seemed to wait for something.

For her to smile? For her to say something, something funny or cheerful or spirited? Something she would have said or done, had he been someone other than who he was?

She just watched him, and soon he turned his back to her again.

~x~

When practice ended, she packed up her stuff quickly. God, she _hated _losing. What kind of person lost? A loser. She _hated _feeling like a loser. She hated feeling like she wasn't good enough.

She hated having something to bond with Kirihara over.

Not that it was even bonding, she figured, exiting the clubhouse. And not that it was even the same thing. She had lost, but had borne it with class—mostly. When Kirihara was on the verge of losing, he tried to hurt his opponent, to make him forfeit.

Okay, so he hadn't done that since… that doubles match in the National finals, against Inui and Kaidoh, maybe.

Whatever. People didn't change. Kirihara probably didn't even want to.

"Hey," said a voice, and she looked up. She was by the library, and Yukimura Seiichi was looking at her, his blue eyes level, and for the first time she was really struck by the resemblance between him and his sister. The physical good looks, yes, but also something else, something she couldn't identify, maybe something she couldn't understand.

"Yes, senpai?"

"Have you seen my sister?" When she blinked at him, he went on, "Yukimura Sayoko. Aren't you a friend of hers?"

"… Um," said An, and then: "No, I haven't seen her." She wanted to look away, wanted to break eye-contact, but she felt like that would be giving in, and held his gaze, a little uncomfortably, but steadily.

"I see," was Yukimura's neutral response, and he kept looking at her, making her feel like a bug under a microscope, a sample in a Petri dish. But then he smiled slightly, and her discomfort eased. He really did have charisma, she'd give him that. "You're Tachibana An?"

At her nod, he said lightly, "I speak to your captain occasionally. She thinks you have great potential."

"What, you have special captain-meetings?" The words came out before she could stop them.

His eyes glinted with amusement. "Of course. We leaders have to stick together, you know. Support each other's regimes."

_Don't try to make me like you, _An thought at him, and didn't let herself smile. Instead, she said, "Well, thank you." He hadn't actually said anything good about her, had just passed a compliment along. Still, better to be polite, to avoid saying anything he took offense to or interest in.

She didn't want the Yukimura siblings in her life.

* * *

Disclaimer: I do not own _Prince of Tennis_, or Lesley Roy's "Thinking Out Loud" (lyrics at the top).


	4. It's Such a Shame, Shame, Shame

**250 Dark Stars**

_(I'm not the one who broke you_

_I'm not the one you should fear_

_We've got to move you, darling)_

…

Kirihara, eyes bright and smile sharp, looked at Tezuka. "So, since you're here, let's play a match."

Sayoko, from where she sat on the coach's bench, rolled her eyes at his one-track mind, and Sanada, with an I-don't-know-why-I-bother-but-I-don't-know-what-else-to-do look, reprimanded him. "That's enough from you, Akaya."

The captain, vice-captain, and a regular of Seishun Gakuen had come to Rikkai to arrange a tennis clinic to take place in coming weeks. Non-regulars practiced on the courts, while the eight core members gathered on the grass, about to see off their Tokyo peers—two of them, anyway. Early in the proceedings, the pretty, delicate-looking one—Fuji, Sayoko recalled—had wandered off.

"You'll contact me once your coach has all the paperwork filed?" her brother confirmed, looking at Tezuka. Characteristically, his jacket was draped over his shoulders, and his arms crossed his chest loosely. Even she had to concede that he looked cool and imposing. Not that she would ever admit that to him.

Tezuka nodded once. "Yes. There are just a few things she has to go over with the school board." From what she'd seen of him, the Seigaku captain was stiff and reserved. Boring. He probably did _everything _with patience, dedication, and effort. She pictured him hula-hooping, staring down at the plastic, hollow ring with a look of utmost concentration, and smirked.

"Where's Fuji gone off to?" asked the vice-captain—the one with the stupid-looking haircut—of the group at large.

Niou, chin propped on his hand, flicked his eyes lazily beyond the courts. "Take a look."

Fuji was standing by the track, in an animated conversation with—

"Hey, it's that girl," Marui said, speaking around the bubble he'd blown. He looked at Kirihara, then at Sayoko. "The one in your guys' class."

Kirihara looked at the pair by the track, shrugged, and resumed staring challengingly at Tezuka, who resumed ignoring him.

"Tachibana An." Surprisingly, it was her brother who supplied the name, and Sayoko blinked at him. How did he know that? _Why _did he know that? She was just some random girl. She was no one.

Seigaku's vice-captain nodded, waving his arm in an attempt to get Fuji's attention. "That's right, Tachibana Kippei's little sister."

At that, the Rikkai team, with varying looks of surprise, turned to look at Kirihara, who scribbled over his baffled expression with a scowl. "What." Sayoko didn't understand why the comment had caused such a stir.

"Why didn't _you _know that?" Jackal asked Yanagi. "That Tachibana's sister goes here."

The Master's expression didn't change, but Sayoko suspected he was miffed by the implication that his data was lacking. "I was aware that Tachibana Kippei had a younger sister, but didn't pursue the matter further. It's irrelevant."

_Seriously, _thought Sayoko.

"Well, why does she go here?" Marui wanted to know, slinging an arm around Kirihara's shoulders. "I'd think this is the last place she'd want to be, what with this kid, and all." He ruffled the green-eyed boy's hair, and got glared at for his trouble.

"Fudomine doesn't have a high school," put in Yagyuu, straightening his glasses.

Seigaku's vice-captain made to respond, but Sanada cut him off. "Tachibana Kippei joined the professional leagues, didn't he." This not-question was directed to Sayoko's brother, who looked interested and contemplative and maybe something else.

"Yes, recently." That something else, Sayoko registered, was frustration. She knew her brother wanted to play professionally, but their parents stipulated that he must finish all three years of high school first. Thinking about that, her chest tightened.

What would she do when he was gone?

"We should get going," said Tezuka calmly, and looked over the Rikkai regulars, his eyes coming to rest on Sayoko's brother. "Thank you for your time."

"Of course." The Child of God smiled—a dagger that gleamed like silver. "We're all looking forward to the clinic." His team traded sharp, knowing glances, anticipating a setting where they could crush the competition to their hearts' content.

The two Seigaku boys left, heading over to get Fuji. The Big Three dispersed to supervise the non-regulars, Kirihara wandered off to do whatever kind of thing Kirihara wandered off to do, and the remaining four boys fell to talking amongst each other. Sayoko didn't listen, until—

"You're chewing your nails. That's cute. Gross, but cute." Niou came up to stand behind the coach's bench, using her head as an arm-rest.

Sayoko scowled, immediately letting her hand fall to her lap. She hadn't even realized she'd been gnawing away at her fingernails. "Shut up, Niou-senpai."

He smirked. "You've been in a bad mood ever since that girl, whatshername, came up."

God, she hated that he noticed things like that. It made her feel so exposed. She shot him a sullen look_, _but his smirk only grew more pronounced._  
_

"Yeah," agreed Marui, strolling over to take a seat beside her. "Do you not like her? She seems cool enough." He grinned at her, tugged on a lock of her hair. "Or do you just feel threatened because she's pretty? Is this one of those pretty-girls-can't-get-along-with-other-pretty-girls things?"

"Sweetheart, don't be like that," Niou said, patting her on the cheek. "You know you're gorgeous." He found a way to twist that last word, to turn the compliment into something that was, if not a flat-out insult, at least degrading.

"Who's pretty, Sayoko-chan is," Marui crooned teasingly, tickling her side. "Who's a pretty pretty princess, it's Sayoko-channnn." Indolently Niou leaned down and tickled her throat.

"Stop it," Sayoko laughed, angry because they'd come close to discerning her thought patterns, and because she _hated _being tickled. "Stop it," she said again, squirming, and looked around for her brother, but he wasn't there. Critiquing serves was more important than helping out his sister.

"That's enough, both of you," Yagyuu spoke up firmly, pushing Marui away and pulling Niou back. "You know she doesn't like being tickled." Jackal, at some point, had drifted off to speak to the team manager.

"But that's why it's fun," protested Marui, though he complied and slid off the bench. Niou just shrugged and strolled away, completely unruffled, entirely impassive.

"Thank you, Yagyuu-senpai," Sayoko said, looking at the well-read, well-spoken boy she didn't often pay much attention to. He smiled at her, and she couldn't tell whether it was genuine or a clever construction.

Patting her on the shoulder, he said, "Do your best, Sayoko-chan," and walked away.

She didn't understand what he'd meant, but the comment made her uncomfortable nonetheless.

~x~

"Come on, Tachibana-kun," Kiko said around a mouthful of rice. "Are you really still upset about losing? Don't be—you're a great player."

It was Friday, a day after An had lost to Katsuragi. She _was _still upset. But… "I'm not upset." She pushed a bit of fish around with her chopsticks. "How much of a sore loser would I be, if I was still upset now?"

She'd be a really big sore loser, and, oh, right, she _was._

Damn it.

Kiko opened her mouth to protest, but Hiyono cut in with, "I don't think she wants to talk about it." An shot the other girl a grateful look.

"All right," Kiko shrugged. "In that case… who was that really cute guy you were talking to during practice yesterday? The kind of slender one, with the light brown hair?"

"Oh," An smiled. "Fuji-senp—I mean, Fuji-kun. Remember how I transferred here from Seigaku? That's where he goes. He was here to arrange some clinic, or something." She'd been really happy to see him.

Judging by the looks on her friends' faces, it seemed they'd forgotten she'd transferred. Rikkai students were pretty elitist—not as much as Hyotei students, but still supercilious. Even kind-hearted Kiko and level-headed Hiyono had some sort of cultivated disdain for less prestigious schools.

Anticipating Kiko's next question, she went on, "No, I'm not dating him." She grinned. "I have a policy against dating guys that are prettier than me."

"I know I'm supposed to say that no one could possibly be prettier than you, but—that's a really good policy," Hiyono laughed. She nudged Kiko. "Think about that the next time you stare adoringly as Yukimura-senpai walks by, yeah?"

Kiko adopted a lofty, soulful look. "People such as you will never understand the deep love that Yukimura-senpai and I share." She ducked her head, grinning sheepishly. "I'm not sure Yukimura-senpai will ever understand it, either. It might help if he learned my name."

"That it might," An giggled, standing. "I'm gonna… walk around." The other girls looked curious, but didn't offer to go with her, for which she was grateful. She was feeling… restless. Tense. Like she wanted to just run and run and not stop until she collapsed.

She would have to settle for a walk around the school. Which was similar, except not at all.

On her way to the door, she passed Sayoko, who was talking to Tsujiai Tetsushi. They were flirting, and laughing, and Tsujiai hardly even bothered to make it look accidental as he brushed his hand over the blue-eyed girl's thigh.

Rolling her eyes, An stepped out into the hallway. Students ambled to and fro, going to the bathroom or to the school store or to talk to friends in different classes. She cut through them, her steps swift with aimless, unfocused energy, walking up the stairs, down the stairs, around the corners, through the halls.

She dwelt on her losses. She would have to get better, work harder, improve her game. Recalling all the hours her brother had put in to get to where he was, she shook her head. She didn't want to be a professional, but, damn it, she wanted to _win. _Just playing was fun, but winning made her feel satisfied, accomplished. Like she could be taken on her own merit.

Somehow, she found herself walking onto the roof, her heart thudding dully in her chest. Her fear of heights warred with the thrill she got from them. Cautiously, she approached the edge, gripping the fence and peering down. The school campus was large and sprawling, with hedges and benches and pretty, tree-lined paths. Would—

"Are you going to jump?"

She started, and lost her balance, her legs tangling as she fell backwards. She sat there, eyes wide and breaths coming in short, huffing gasps. What if she'd fallen forward, instead of back? Would it have been enough to make her topple over the fence, off the roof? Could she have—?

"You're way pale," remarked Kirihara, approaching to nudge her leg with his foot. "Are you afraid of heights?"

"No, I'm afraid of potato chips," she snapped, her nerves completely shot. "_Obviously I am afraid of heights!_"

"Whoa, calm down," he said, eyeing her with a hey-check-out-the-crazy-chick look. "What are you doing on the roof, then?"

"What are _you _doing on the roof," she muttered, and rose shakily. This explained where Kirihara disappeared to during lunch. His blazer was off, crumpled on the ground, the remains of his lunch beside it.

"Meh," he replied, and watched as she wiped sweaty hands on her black, pleated skirt. Then: "Are you really that Tachibana's little sister?"

She blinked, looked at him. He met her eyes squarely, hands in his pockets, posture careless, arrogant. The sun backlit him, highlighting the strong line of his jaw, getting lost in the dark tangle of his hair.

"Why are you asking?" She tried to keep her face unreadable, unsure of how successful she was. It wasn't that she wanted to keep it a secret. She was _proud _of her brother. It was just weird, that he would ask her this now. Tachibana wasn't an uncommon surname, and there had never been a strong physical resemblance between the two siblings.

"A little birdie mentioned it to me," he smirked, nodding to the pigeons roosting on the other side of the roof.

An refused to find him funny. "Yes, Tachibana Kippei is my brother," she said flatly, and turned to leave.

"Why are you so… blah, around me?" he called after her, sounding curious and a little irked.

She stopped. "What?"

"Usually you're all, you know," he gestured with his hands, quickly and erratically, trying to express energy. "All smiles and fireworks and stuff. But then, around me, you just like, shut down." He tilted his head. "Is it 'cause you're just so attracted to me?" he asked, sounding as if it was an honest question.

_Is this guy for real?_

She stared at him. "You're really asking me that?" she confirmed, speaking slowly. "You know who I am, who I'm related to, and you _still _ask me that?"

Kirihara frowned at her. "I don't understand."

And she saw, looking at him, that he didn't. He didn't make the connection between her, and him, and what he'd done to her brother. Didn't realize that they were totally different people, with completely different ethics, and that he had burned the bridge between them before it had even been built.

"No," said An quietly. "You really don't understand."

She walked away, left him there with the sunshine and the birds and the wind, whispering words in a secret language.

~x~

"Morning conditioning starts next week," declared Fuyumi that afternoon before practice began. "All regulars need to be in the weight room by 6:30."

"Just because it's conditioning doesn't mean lateness will be tolerated," added Shimizu, her green-gray eyes lively. "No one really gives a damn how early you have to get up to make it on time."

"Tournament season begins in a few weeks," Fuyumi went on. "Everyone will be in peak condition." It was a calm, level statement, and those quick brown eyes backed it up. Fuyumi was soft-spoken, but when she talked, people listened.

"And we're gonna kick some ass," Shimizu grinned, clapping her hands together. "All right, everybody, you know what to do. Get to it."

The girls began their laps around the courts. Fifteen laps at the beginning of practice, fifteen laps at the end, and randomly assigned sprints in between. An stuck with the other regulars, though by the end she had to focus on her breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In through the nose, out through the mouth.

_I should start going on runs, _she realized with a grimace, letting herself decelerate to a walk after finishing her last lap. She knew Hiyono went running sometimes. Maybe she'd go with her.

"Hey, Tachibana," Shimizu called from near the clubhouse. "Come here."

Kiko caught up to her, red-faced and breathing heavily. "Why does Shimizu-fukubuchou want you?" she panted.

"Probably just to tell me how great I am," An guessed airily, then shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe to kick me out of the club. Maybe to send me to pick up her dry-cleaning."

"Oh, the glamorous life of the high school athlete," Kiko laughed, and headed to court two for overhead drills.

An approached Shimizu, unsure whether or not it was good to be singled out. A silver cross hung from a chain around the other girl's neck. "Fukubuchou?"

They were the same height, and Shimizu punched her lightly in the arm. "From now on, Tachibana, you're my special project."

That couldn't be good. That couldn't be good at all.

"You've got definite potential," Shimizu continued, scribbling something on a clipboard. "Everybody sees it. Fuyumi sees it. We want you to utilize it in time to make this year one to remember."

"Yes, senpai," An responded, at once interested and wary. The older girl started walking, and she followed a few steps behind.

"So what we're going to do," Shimizu asserted, not looking up as girls got out of her way, "is we're going to work on your serve. We're going to make you come to the net more. We're going to improve your footwork. And we're going to give you a few special tricks and tools." She smiled widely. "You ready?"

Hell yeah.

~x~

Sayoko was sitting on the couch watching the news on Sunday night when she noticed her brother head for the stairs. "Oniisan, wait," she called, and he paused, his hand on the railing. She hurried over and latched onto his back. "Piggyback ride up the stairs."

She couldn't see his face, but heard the exasperation in his voice. "No way, Sayoko. You're too heavy for this."

"I am _not _fat."

"Your willful misinterpretation is endearing," he said dryly, trying to unclasp her arms from around his neck.

"Everything about me is endearing," she countered. "Come on, just up the stairs. It's endurance training for tennis." Honestly, she was just looking for attention. Somehow, she only ever wanted her brother to dote on her or leave her alone. There wasn't much middle ground when it came to her expectations of him.

He sighed, and warned, "If you fall, it's your own fault," before starting up the stairs, going slowly so as not to jostle her. Once he reached the top, she allowed herself to slide to the ground.

"See? I don't fall."

"Your back-clinging abilities are remarkable," he said wryly as he opened his bedroom door. "Like a monkey's."

Sayoko entered her own room, throwing herself down on the bed. She'd come upstairs to get her laptop, but now didn't feel like using it. She just lay there for a while, thinking about nothing in particular, until she heard her mother call, "Sayoko, could you come down here please?"

"It's Oniisan's turn to do the dishes," she muttered, and trotted down the stairs, only to find her parents sitting in the living room, looking serious and composed.

_That _couldn't be good.

"Sit down, Sayoko," instructed her father, looking at her with the vivid blue eyes that he'd passed down to her and her brother. She had also gotten her rich brown hair from him, though his had gone gray at the temples. Obediently, she sat, careful to let her expression give nothing away.

"We need to talk about your schoolwork," said her mother, whose facial structure her children shared, though Sayoko did not display her wavy blue hair or warm brown eyes. "Your grades aren't at all acceptable."

Sayoko chewed on the inside of her cheek. "It's not like I'm at the bottom of my class. And anyway, school's just started. I can bring my grades up."

Her father interlocked his hands. "That's the issue. You _could _be at the top of your class. You're not working to your potential."

She glared at him. "Neither is Oniisan! His grades have never been as high they could be, and you know it." It was kind of low, bringing her brother into this, but… she'd never thought of herself as a nice person.

"Seiichi has spent a vast amount of his time leading the best tennis team in the country," was her mother's counter. "He's planning to go on to be a professional, and even if he doesn't, any university will gladly accept him. We're not concerned about him."

Her father's expression was stern. "You have no such excuse. You come home and you waste your time. You're not meeting your potential in _anything_. You don't even seem to want to. Remember how hard you worked on your application for the study-abroad program? You _wanted _that scholarship, and you worked for it, and you got it. But then you got over there and you wasted your time!"

"I did _not_," she ground out, fists clenched tight; her fingernails would have cut into her palms had she not chewed them down to stubs.

"You did. Your English teacher emailed your mother. She says you're only showing half the improvement expected of a year in an immersion-program."

"So _what_?" Sayoko seethed, her voice low. "So my English isn't as great as it 'should be,' so what. Oniisan could be a hell of a lot better at any number of things, if he wanted to be! But no, he's fine. You can't ask any more of him, what with him having had a terrible disease and all. Would my mediocrity be acceptable if _I _got sick? Would that satisfy you?"

Her mother's jaw dropped, her father's eyes widened, and she _knew _she had gone too far, that she had to take it back, that she was the worst sister in the world, and regret so strong it made her want to throw up took root in her body. She stood up, trembling.

"Take it back, Sayoko," said her father quietly. "Apologize immediately."

She stared at him, at his white, tight face, and felt _scared_. God, why had she said that, what was _wrong _with her, why did she mess everything up, why couldn't she apologize?

_Take it back, take it back! _she screamed at herself, but outwardly she just bit her lip, turned on her heel, and ran upstairs—

Only to find her brother at the top.

His face was set and still, and they stood looking at each other, blue eyes locked—his unwavering and intense, hers wide and distressed. She tried to speak, tried to tell him she was sorry, that she hadn't meant it, but she _had_, and that knowledge made her sick, made her speechless.

"What do you want me to say, Sayoko?" he asked, his voice low and soft and _hard_. "That I'm sorry I ended up with Gullian-Barre Syndrome? That I'm sorry I'm dedicated to my sport and my team?"

He just _looked _at her, affectionate and condemning. "I won't let you use me as an excuse not to grow up."

The least he could have then done was walk away, but instead he stood and watched as she fled to her room, tears streaming hot and sticky down her face as collapsed on her bed, knees hugged tight to her chest, feeling small and sick and worthless.

* * *

Oh, Akaya. He just doesn't see why hurting people to win a tennis match is wrong.

Disclaimer: I do not own _Prince of Tennis_, or the Goo Goo Dolls' "Here is Gone" (lyrics at the top).


	5. She Never Was and Never Will Be

**250 Dark Stars**

_(Don't be afraid, but keep it all inside, all inside_

_When you fall apart, dry your eyes, dry your eyes_

_Life is always hard for the belle of the boulevard)  
_

…

Sayoko did not emerge from her room until the next morning, fully dressed, with makeup hiding the shadows under her eyes—the scars of a sleepless night. Her parents had already left for work, and her brother for morning practice. She drifted through the silent house, ate breakfast. Her stomach churned, but she forced the food down.

It would be a bad day.

She went to school earlier than she normally would have, and lingered near students by the track, looking at the boys' tennis courts. The equipment was being put away, boys were changing into their uniforms. Her brother oversaw it all, calmly calling out instructions while maintaining a conversation with Sanada. His expression was smooth, untroubled.

Somehow, he met her eyes, and she swallowed, her chest tight, her stomach queasy.

_Tell him you're sorry. Go over there and fix this. Just get it over with. Come on, come on, say something, do something, anything. Stop screwing everything up. Fix this!_

She dropped her gaze and walked away.

They'd always bickered a lot, fought some—mostly small fights, sometimes big ones. Never, afterwards, had they really talked about it, really gotten over the issue. Mostly they buried it by being extra-nice to each other, or just avoiding each other.

And he'd known each time, hadn't he? That she loved him? He'd known, he'd always known without her having to apologize. Why should this time be any different?

In the hallway, people watched her, murmured greetings. Some people from her class, some people that knew of her. She knew she shouldn't care what they thought—most of them were probably losers. Her brother didn't care what they thought. But _she _did, damn it, she cared a lot, and so she made them see someone confident, someone blasé, someone on top of the world.

School was the last thing she felt like she could deal with at that moment, but like _hell _would she let anyone else realize that.

It was time to distract herself.

In the classroom, she walked by Tsujiai Tetsushi, intentionally brushing his arm, but then offering him a small, secret smile. "Sorry, Tsujiai-kun." Apologies were so much easier when they were made to people that meant nothing to you.

His smile was slow and wide. "No problem, Yukimura." His eyes traveled her body, and she appreciated that—appreciated his appreciation of her, even though it made her feel dirty, slimy, like trash. She was better than that, but when your brother was the most perfect person in Japan, self-esteem was a novelty.

As she sat down, she glanced at the Tachibana girl. An was writing something in her notebook, but looked up when someone said her name, tucking hair behind her ear and smiling without any self-consciousness.

She had an older brother, too, a tennis player. He probably sheltered her, doted on her. Not, of course, that Sayoko wasn't sheltered and doted on. But she lived with the knowledge that all her positive traits were just watered-down versions of her brother's, and that he went on to outdo her in virtually every other way.

But, still. Had some of her classmates not been watching her—people, at least a few, were _always _watching her—she would have sighed and rubbed her face. She loved her brother more than anyone in the world. He was her most important person, and how had she treated him?

She'd thrown his illness, that damn disease, in his face.

_Come on, come on, Yukimura, forget it, ignore it, think about something else, just for now. _She looked around, found Tsujiai, threw him a coy look.

It began.

From that moment on, he focused on her, making eye-contact during class, whispering things as he passed her desk.

Between classes, they talked, mostly about how his soccer practices were going. She didn't pay attention, didn't listen, just said the right things, the things he wanted to hear, and smiled the right way, tilted her head the right way, stretched out her calves the right way. It was so repulsively easy, so methodical.

It wasn't supposed to go beyond flirting, but—during lunch, he asked if she wanted to go with him to get a book from his locker, and they ended up in an empty computer lab. _Stop it, _her mind whispered. _What the hell do you think you're doing? Get out of here._

But she felt so sick, so guilty, so miserable that she let him get closer, closer, and one thing led to another, and it was so fast, she didn't really think, but it felt good and so she let him kiss her, remove her blazer, unbutton her blouse.

_Don't stoop this low. __You're better than this._

But she wanted to forget, wanted to stop feeling sick.

Soon enough they both were shirtless, and his breath was hot and quick against her throat, his fingers fumbling at the zipper on her skirt. Immediately, she redirected his hand, but in no time at all he tried again.

"Stop it," she muttered.

"But you're so hot. Just let me—"

She slapped his hand away. "I said _no. _Are you crazy? We're at _school_." She snatched her blouse off the floor, started buttoning it over her bra, fingers trembling with anger.

He glared at her, but put on his own shirt. "God, Yukimura, I knew you were a slut, but I didn't think you were a tease, too. You've been making eyes at me ever since school started, but then you say no? What_ever_."

Outraged, she forgot all about her shirt. "Are you _kidding_? You've got to be kidding."

He just threw her a look that promised retribution and walked out, his blazer slung over his shoulder. She watched him go, and with every step he took, her heart sank lower, and lower, and lower.

~x~

"Oh, wow." Hiyono sounded almost impressed. "You really weren't kidding when you said you got a bad grade on your outline."

An put her notebook away, and accepted the rice-ball she was offered. "Tell me about it," she grumbled, and blinked, recalling how Kirihara had laughed, had said that to her when she'd been angry. At the moment, he was probably on the roof.

Kiko sipped her juice. "I got a little higher than you, but not much. I _hate _outlines." As they learned it, they had to outline every chapter in their history book. Earlier, the teacher had passed back the first ones they'd submitted, and gone over his expectations of the assignment.

"And," he'd said, "believe it or not, you cannot just rewrite history by not including the sections you personally find worthless in your outline." As he said this, he'd fixed his gaze on An, and she'd given him an oh-hey-what's-up look, before embarking on a mission to rid her desk of every last, tiny eraser-shaving.

Behold Tachibana An, guardian of classroom cleanliness, scourge of the eraser-shaving menace.

"Hey, guys." Kaji Rui took a seat by them, his gray eyes friendly. "How goes it?"

"I hate outlines," said Kiko again, stabbing at a clump of rice with her chopsticks, her soft, round face sullen.

"Same," he nodded. "I hate them with, if not the white-hot intensity of a thousand suns, at least with…"

"The white-hot intensity of a thousand toaster-ovens?" supplied An, her chin on her hand.

"Sounds about right," he grinned. "Anyway, you all have practice after school, right?" When they nodded, he went on, "You guys wanna see a movie afterwards? We're getting some people together." He tilted his head towards the group he usually hung out with.

"It depends." Hiyono cleared away her _bento_ box. "Will the movie involve pirates, explosions, and/or slow-motion walks towards the camera as something bursts into flames in the background?"

"One can only hope," Kaji answered solemnly. "So, you guys in?"

"I am," decided An. She made a face. "Unless Shimizu-fukubuchou kills me during practice today. I don't know how much I'll be able to take, after that weight-room session." Her biceps ached, her quads ached, her core muscles screamed. Because first-years weren't allowed to be starters at Seigaku, she had slacked off in the fitness department, and now she paid for it.

Tsujiai walked back into the classroom, looking cockier than usual. He took a seat with the guys he hung out with, and soon they were laughing and sharing sly looks.

Hiyono pressed her lips together. An had recently learned that she had dated Tsujiai a year or so ago, and broken up with him. Now the brown-eyed girl frowned even upon hearing his name brought up.

Kaji didn't seem to notice. They were trading baseball/softball vs. tennis training methods when Sayoko reentered, as cool and confident as ever, and joined her group without so much as glancing at Tsujiai—which was weird, because they'd been all over each other earlier.

It started in their next class.

The snickers, the whispers, the looks. Tsujiai and his friends obviously were sharing some cruel joke about someone, and it became apparent that it was Sayoko. The mahogany-haired girl started out composed, but slowly that composure started to crack, and she showed flashes of anger and embarrassment.

It kind of made her seem like a real person.

No one else really knew what was going on, but as the day passed, the boys grew bolder. When their science teacher was on the phone, Tsujiai said in a high, whiny voice that was clearly an imitation of someone, "We're at _school_."

Sayoko's knuckles went white.

English was their last class, and they were translating sentences from the textbook. The teacher had each of them write a sentence on the board. When it was Sayoko's turn, the snickers of Tsujiai and his friends became so loud the teacher snapped at them, before another teacher asked to speak with Tateishi-sensei out in the hallway.

Sayoko was halfway finished with her sentence when one of Tsujiai's friends called out, "Hey, Yukimura, since you're already up there, can you write 'I'm a whore' on the board in English?"

The class gave a collective gasp, and Sayoko froze, her back to everyone. Then, rigidly, she turned around and, even though her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment, shot the boy a look so cold and mean he visibly flinched. "Go to hell," she said quietly.

But Tsujiai spoke up, smirking. "Come on, Yukimura, don't be like that. You were friendly enough when you were taking my shirt off. Remember? It was only a few hours ago."

Sayoko stared at him, her face getting redder and redder. She looked helpless and humiliated. Just watching the scene, An was embarrassed.

"What?" asked another boy, another soccer player. "Don't want word of your dirty little escapades to get out to your precious brother?"

"Or would you rather it have been your brother _with _you." Tsujiai laughed cruelly. "You guys seem pretty close."

An couldn't take it anymore. She stood abruptly, her chair scraping across the floor. She was _furious_. "Shut the fuck up, Tsujiai. I can't _believe _you. You are such an absolute piece of trash."

He looked at her, taken aback, before glaring. "Mind your own business, Tachibana. Or would—"

"What's going on in here?" Tateishi-sensei demanded, storming back into the classroom. She surveyed the scene: Sayoko, still at the board, frozen and red and speechless; Tsujiai, caught speaking; and An, standing up and glaring for all she was worth.

Tateishi-sensei pressed her lips together and made a snap-judgment. "Yukimura, take your seat. Tachibana and Tsujiai, to the office. Now."

Wordlessly, An grabbed her bag and left, not looking at anyone. She made it to the office before Tsujiai, and was seated with one of the vice-principals when the boy walked in. By some unspoken agreement, neither confessed what happened, just muttered about having an argument.

Ten minutes later, An left the office sentenced to four hours of detention. She wasn't sure where Tsujiai went, but she was almost back to class when the final bell rang—and Sayoko burst out of 2-B and ran straight for the bathroom, somehow managing to be red-faced and pale at the same time.

Even from the hallway, An heard the other girl start to retch.

She closed her eyes as other students streamed into the halls. _It's not my problem. She's not my friend. I don't even like her. She acts like she hates me. _

But her feet led her into the bathroom anyway, and she found Sayoko kneeling over one of the toilets with the stall door open. Her hair in her face, she shuddered and gagged, looking small and pathetic and alone, and An couldn't leave her.

She dropped her bag and went to the other girl, taking her long, thick hair and holding it back to keep it clean. The other girl continued to heave, her hands gripping the toilet bowl as tears streamed down her face.

A few minutes passed like that, maybe two, maybe four. A couple girls walked in, then immediately walked out.

And then Yukimura Seiichi strode in with all the suddenness and terribleness of a bolt of lightning. Somehow, word of his little sister's situation had reached him. "Sayoko, what—"

At her brother's voice, Sayoko shook her head frantically, her thin shoulders moving under An's hands. "Make him leave," she whispered to An, before vomiting again.

Still holding Sayoko's hair, she turned her head from where she knelt beside the other girl. "Get out," she snapped at the imposing third-year, deciding it was useless to point out that it was the girls' bathroom.

He stared at her with a look of unconcealed bemusement and indignation, clearly wondering who she was, to talk to him like that.

She'd deal with the repercussions later. "Well, go on. She doesn't want you here. If you really want to help her, go get her a bottle of water. She's going to need to wash her mouth out."

He stood there for a moment longer, looking at her like he'd never seen anything like her, before—after a last, concerned glance at his sister—he turned and left.

An shook her head and turned her attention back to Sayoko. _Oh, God. They're going to find my body outside the school. I hope that he at least uses his tennis to strip me of my senses before he kills me. That would mean it'd be a painless death, right?_

There must not have been anything left in Sayoko's stomach, for from then on she just kept shaking, and dry-heaving, and gasping. Just as An feared the convulsions would never end, they started to subside, becoming less frequent, less intense.

"Um…" a small first-year girl had walked in. In her hands was a bottle of water, which she held out to An. "Yukimura-senpai said to give this to you. He's waiting outside."

An took it. "All right. I think you can tell him that the worst of it's over."

The girl nodded and scurried away.

"You feel like you're going to throw up any more?" An asked Sayoko, who gave a little shrug, sniffling. "You should probably go over to the sink and clean yourself up, then." Letting go of the other girl's hair, she moved so that the blue-eyed girl could flush the toilet and shuffle over to the sink, splashing water on her face. It didn't do much good.

"Here," An sighed, and tore off a paper towel, wetting it and handing it to Sayoko. "Use that." Mechanically, the other girl did as instructed while An prepared another one, this to rub through those long mahogany locks, which had also gotten a little messy.

Once that was taken care of, Sayoko opened the water, took a sip, and spat it into the sink. Sip, spit, repeat. Sip, spit, repeat. From the look on her face, the disgusting taste still lingered in her mouth. There wasn't much to do about that, except—

From her bag, An came up with a piece of spearmint gum, which Sayoko again accepted wordlessly, looking into one of the mirrors. Her once-lovely face was pallid from vomiting and puffy from crying; her mascara ran, a glassy sheen of sweat coated her features, and the shadows under her eyes made her look like a corpse.

_So this is what it takes to make a beautiful girl ugly._

"Why are you being so nice to me?" she asked hoarsely, without looking away from her unsightly reflection.

_Because I'm a vigilante do-gooder that can't mind her own business_. "Because I like holding other people's hair as they puke their guts out. Come on, your brother's waiting."

Grimly, Sayoko chewed the gum a couple more times and threw it away. Then she bit her lip, closed her eyes, and let such a look of self-loathing wash over her face that An was startled. And then she was walking out toward her brother.

Rolling her eyes, An grabbed the other girl's bag and took it out. Right outside the bathroom, Sayoko stood with her face buried in her brother's blazer. Yukimura held her to him tightly, and something about the set of his mouth spoke of weariness, or frustration, or worry. Maybe all three.

He'd been looking down at the top of his sister's head, but when the chestnut-haired girl came out, he met her eyes levelly, and she shifted her weight from foot to foot, wondering how she'd gotten into this situation.

She held up the bag, silently asking what to do with it, when someone else muttered, "I'll take it." She hadn't even noticed him, but across the hallway, Kirihara was lounging against the lockers, which he unhitched himself from to take the bag from her hands. He was frowning at her for some reason, his eyes narrow and resentful.

"C'mere." He put a hand on her shoulder, lightly shoved her down the hallway. She shot him a what's-your-problem look and shrugged him off, but proceeded in that direction anyway, figuring she might as well let him say whatever he wanted to say.

She spared a last glance at Sayoko, who remained in the safety of her brother's arms. _You're welcome, _she thought at her, with no small amount of annoyance.

When she and Kirihara rounded a corner, he turned to face her, the corners of his mouth drawn back and tight—a bow ready to loose an arrow. "It should have been me." The words were curt, clipped, but his eyes revealed unmitigated frustration.

An stared at him. "What? It should have been you vomiting? I'm sure she would have preferred it to be you, too."

"It should have been me," he elaborated impatiently, "to tell Tsujiai to go screw himself. It should have been me, because she's Yukimura-buchou's little sister, and she's kind of a bitch but she's his _sister _and I should have—" He dropped both his and Sayoko's bags, tore his hands through his hair.

After a moment, he took a breath, looked at her. She watched him quietly. "I just sat there," he muttered. "I just sat there, and let them run their mouths, because I was thinking—I was kind of thinking she deserved it."

She understood where he was coming from, but— "No one deserves that, what they did. That was…" she shook her head, disgusted.

Kirihara eyed her. "What's it to _you_, anyway? Why help her? Tsujiai, and probably the rest of the boys' soccer team—they're gonna have it out for you now." He looked at her, really _looked _at her, as if she just didn't make any sense to him, and he was waiting for her to say "Just kidding" and turn into someone he understood.

"I'm just an upstanding citizen," she said sarcastically. "Trying to reach the highest moral ground in all Japan."

"How obnoxious." He made a face, kicked the floor.

An thought about her brother, about how, when they'd first moved to Tokyo, he had joined the tennis team and stood up for a bunch of ragtag first-years he didn't even know. How he'd gotten himself in trouble because of it. And she said, "I guess it runs in the family."

He contemplated that for a moment, before mumbling, "God, how am I going to explain this to Buchou."

She was done trying to solve other people's problems. "Tell him you didn't speak up because your lips were hermetically sealed at the time." She jogged off down the hallway without waiting for an answer, thinking that maybe, if she _really _booked it, she could make it to practice on time.

God, she hoped what she'd done wouldn't come back to haunt her.

* * *

Sayoko's just in a downward spiral, isn't she?

Disclaimer: I do not own _Prince of Tennis_, or Dashboard Confessional's "Belle of the Boulevard" (lyrics at the top).


	6. She Smiles Like She's So Tough

**250 Dark Stars**

_(You can try to deny it_

_But it's only getting better_

_It's all right, oh baby, it's all right)_

…

"Oh my God," Hiyono breathed, staring at the third-world disaster-area that used to be An's locker. The chestnut-haired girl just shook her head, speechless. Everything that was in it had been slashed up and doused with what smelled like Coca-Cola, so that the shredded mess stuck together.

"I," said An, very calmly, "am going. To. _Murder someone._"

"I realize that signals a bad time for me to enter the conversation, but—damn, they really did a number on yours," Marui remarked, approaching to look over her shoulder. Jackal was with him, and he shot An a sympathetic glance.

"They destroyed the stuff in our lockers, too." He peered inside An's. "Except ours got rinsed with some sort of lemon-lime soda."

An looked at them incredulously. "I just don't—why would—what the _hell_? I mean, just… who would—_oh_."

"Soccer team," Marui nodded, leaning up against the locker next to hers (in doing so, blocking the girl who needed to open it, though she seemed happy enough to linger nearby and watch). "They're going after everyone on the tennis team."

An scowled. How had she gotten lumped in with them?

Hiyono straightened her green-and-white-striped tie absently. "I don't understand. All of this because of what happened with Yukimura-san yesterday?"

"Sure, that was the catalyst," Marui shrugged, then glanced at Jackal smugly. "Notice my use of the word 'catalyst'? Ninth-grade vocabulary list, whaaaaat."

"Very impressive." Jackal's voice was dry.

"Anyway," Marui went on. "That like, put this in motion, but the soccer team's had it out for us for, I don't know, forever. Because they're jealous of us surpassing them in all possible ways, and all."

"Think of it as class warfare," Jackal suggested to the two girls (and all the people gathered to listen). "Between the top team in the school, and the runner-up. They're trying to show us up once and for all—to terrorize us until we concede."

Marui, his eyes shining with enthusiasm, grinned—and it would have reminded her of Kikumaru Eiji, had there not been something distinctly unkind about his expression. "Don't worry," he said, giving An a friendly clap on the shoulder, and not seeming to mind when she pulled away. "We anticipated this."

"Did we," remarked An flatly, looking forlornly at her locker. "Listen, before this goes too far—they only have a grudge against the boys' tennis team, right? Not the girls'? So can't I make it clear that I'm like, Switzerland? I don't want to be involved in this." She scowled, reached inside her locker to touch a sticky piece of fabric. "I _loved _this umbrella."

"Backing down from a challenge?" Kirihara mocked, strolling through the crowded hallway to come stand by Jackal. "Didn't take you for a quitter, Tachibana."

She knew he was just baiting her, but— "I'm not. This just doesn't have anything to do with me, is all." She looked at Hiyono. "Back me up here." The brown-haired girl blinked innocently at her, looking privately amused by the whole situation.

"I understand not wanting to get caught up in this, but—this started with Sayoko-chan, and you're her friend," put in Jackal. "You stood up for her yesterday. To the soccer team, you've chosen a side, and they're going to treat you like the enemy."

Aware of Kirihara watching her, An said grimly, "I'm not her friend."

Marui looked at her for a moment, then shrugged. "Either way, you still took her side yesterday. And no matter what, you're involved _now, _aren't you? Don't you want revenge for what they did to your stuff?" he gestured toward the trashed contents of her locker.

_Are you kidding? I'm going to find whoever did this, put them through a wood-chipper, and feed their remains to rabid wolverines. And then I'm going to write mean things on their gravestones._

She didn't want to agree with him, though, so she just frowned, and Kirihara smirked. "Forget it, senpai. You can't expect girls to understand things like revenge. Not _real _revenge, anyway. She'll probably just find Tsujiai and tell him that like," and here he affected a high, feminine tone, "his nail polish is _so _last season."

An turned to face him, and saw a person consumed with male posturing and a teenager's cockiness, not the boy she'd seen yesterday, the one who expressed doubt and frustration, the one who looked at her like he wanted to break her apart to find out what she was made of.

"Okay," she said, and smiled tightly at him. "Could you do me a solid and just get hit by a bus? That'd be great, thanks." Pointedly turning her back on him, she nodded to Marui and Jackal, muttered "Excuse me," slammed her locker shut, and strode away toward homeroom.

Behind her, she heard Hiyono murmur, "Excuse me, Marui-senpai, Jackal-senpai. I think this is the part where I storm away after her." She did just that, too, and An thought, _It's nice to have friends._

~x~

An hadn't expected Sayoko to come to school that day; she, personally, would have stayed home, just to regroup from the utter humiliation. But the blue-eyed girl showed up, looking even better than usual. Her makeup wasn't heavy and her hairstyle was simple, but the overall effect spoke of many hours in front of the mirror, carefully enhancing natural beauty to the point of making it almost devastating to others.

An was starting to think that the other girl used her looks both as a weapon and as a defense.

The whole class stared as she walked in, and instead of looking past them like they were lesser life-forms, as she typically did, she made eye-contact with anyone who dared, raising her eyebrows in a silent challenge. _Well? Do you have something to say? Go ahead, see where it gets you._

She even got into a staring match with Tsujiai, who remained cloistered with a group of his soccer buddies. He scoffed, and sneered, and muttered things to his friends—but ended up looking away first.

Only when she met An's eyes did Sayoko falter, blink. Her expression became guarded, and she dropped her gaze as she made her way to her seat. An shook her head, wondering at her own small, strange victory.

It soon became apparent that the class—that the whole _school_—was taking sides in the conflict that Sayoko's bad decision had instigated. In their class, allegiances were made known by glances thrown and comments made, by lingering at Sayoko's desk or by giving Tsujiai a high-five.

Kirihara actually stayed awake that day, his chin propped on his hand, watching and listening for anything that could be construed negatively towards Sayoko or the tennis team. More than once, he and Tsujiai got yelled at for arguing with and insulting each other. Clearly, this was his way of making up for his inactivity yesterday.

During breaks and during lunch, Kirihara and Sayoko left—to meet up with the rest of the tennis team. Not once was Sayoko ever without her brother or one of his teammates nearby, and throughout the day, she remained composed, kept her head as high as it always was.

"It kills me to say this, but—it's pretty impressive, how put-together she is today," commented Kiko, toying with a bit of seaweed. "I could never sit here so calmly, knowing everyone's talking about me, saying all sorts of awful stuff."

"Yukimura Sayoko is a person unto herself," Hiyono replied matter-of-factly, though not unkindly. "However this goes down, I hope Tsujiai and all those other jerks get their asses handed to them."

"Seriously," Kiko agreed. "Yukimura-senpai should just like, unleash the whole huge wrath of his awesomeness on them. And then ask me to marry him. But that's not the point."

An stayed quiet. Tsujiai disgusted her, and she couldn't speak well of anyone else on the boys' soccer team. But Yukimura Sayoko was far from her favorite person, and she wasn't partial to the way the lovely girl's brother and his team acted like they were kings of the whole school.

She _was _angry about her locker, though. Luckily, she hadn't left any of her expensive textbooks in it, but—they'd destroyed her stuff! There wasn't any way she could let them get away with that. What could she do, though?

~x~

"Come on, Tachibana, make up your mind!" shouted Shimizu. "Either hit it down-the-line or cross-court! I don't want to see any more of this half-assed just-chillin'-in-the-center-of-the-court business. I _know _you've got good ball control, so _use _it."

An planted her feet, drew her racquet back, and slammed the ball down the line. It didn't land exactly in the corner, but it was a damn good shot, and her opponent wasn't even near it on the first bounce. An, unable to repress a small smile, turned to her vice-captain expectantly.

Shimizu just shook her head, grinning. "Oh, don't look so pleased with yourself. You're not _that _good, honey. And you're still not turning before you run. I don't care that you can still hit good shots like that—you can hit _better _ones if the very first thing you do, as soon as the ball leaves your opponent's racquet, is turn."

She motioned for An's opponent, another second-year, to disperse. "Okay, so your footwork. Fuyumi and I went to this clinic before school started, and they were teaching that—"

"Hey, Yukimura-buchou wants you."

Kirihara had come to stand by the court, and he'd spoken lazily to An. All around, girls stopped, aware of the attractive, well-known boy in their midst. Shimizu called out, "Why don't I hear people _playing_?" and approached Kirihara, motioning for An to do the same. She'd been standing there, mentally berating herself.

_Why did I even come to Rikkai? Why did I come to a place full of crazy jerks that just won't leave me _alone_? Oh my God, do they think I'm like, a fellow crazy jerk? Are they trying to incorporate me into their crazy jerk club? We're Not Just Crazy and We're Not Just Jerks, We're Crazy Jerks, Ya Bitches. WNJCWNJJWCJYB. Oh, God, I used to be a good kid!_

"What exactly are you calling my player out of practice for?" Shimizu demanded, hands on her wide, flaring hips.

Kirihara blinked hooded green eyes at her. "Dunno. Yukimura-buchou told me to come get her. I could tell him you said no… what was your name again, senpai? Just so I can let him know." He smiled insolently, letting the threat hang over her head.

An stared at Shimizu, sending please-don't-let-them-take-me brainwaves at her. The blond-haired girl shot Kirihara a disparaging look, but shrugged at An. "Well, go on. Make it fast, though."

Even self-confident, forceful Shimizu wouldn't stand up to the Child of God.

Feeling betrayed, the chestnut-haired girl set her racquet down and followed Kirihara past her envious teammates, wondering what Yukimura Seiichi could possibly want with her. Was he really going to kill her, for how she'd spoken to him the day before? Should she make a break for it?

"Why are you all shifty-eyed?" Kirihara wanted to know, looking over his shoulder at her.

Caught up in figuring out her chances of escaping him, she responded absently, "I'm deciding how fast I'd have to run to get away from you."

"Like there's any way you _ever _could," he scoffed. "I would catch up to you in like, a second, and—hey!" An had taken off, sprinting away toward the other athletic fields. Kirihara immediately went after her, and their feet pounded on the springtime grass.

It wasn't that she actually thought she could get out of talking with Yukimura by running away—she just wanted to wipe the self-satisfied smirk off Kirihara's face. So she ran, and he chased her across the sprawling campus, going up slopes and down, passing people that stared at them like they were escaped mental patients.

Kirihara was steadily gaining on her, even though she was running as fast as she could, and that pissed her off. Still, it felt good: not running laps, not running to a destination, just running and running and running and trying to hold out as long as she could, running to prove something, run run run, keep going, come on, run run _run_—

And then he tackled her.

They tumbled to the ground and rolled down a gentle slope, coming to a stop at the bottom. The breath knocked out of her, pinned on her back by his weight, An could only stare at Kirihara as he grinned down at her, his hair in his eyes, which were wild and bright and intense with the exertion and the chase and the victory.

_God_, those eyes were green.

She tried to clear her head, to find her voice. "Get. Off. Of me," she wheezed, and he laughed, rolling away. Pushing herself into a sitting position, she demanded, "Was that _necessary_?" Though she managed to keep her face straight, he must have seen the smile in her eyes, and he just laughed again, getting to his feet.

"Well, get up," he bade of her, still amused. "Don't have all day."

He didn't offer to help her to her feet, for which she was glad. It made her angry when he acted friendly, when he acted like a normal person, when he acted like he'd never done what he did to her brother. When he did things that made her kind of—

Like him.

Or, at least—whatever. She didn't want to think about it. Trying to come up with something dignified to say, she stood and started up the slope, only to gasp when she reached the top. "Wowwww."

They'd crossed practically the entire campus, and were looking out over the soccer fields. The girls' team practiced as usual, with players taking turns aiming at the goal. The boys, however, were running laps around a very startling, very purple-even-though-it-was-supposed-to-be-green field. There were splotches of orange as well, and from the slight vantage point, An could discern that they were obscenities.

So this was what Marui had meant, when he'd said that they had anticipated the soccer team's pranks.

Kirihara followed her line of sight, and grinned, obviously very pleased with himself. "Me, Niou-senpai, and Marui-senpai pulled it off last night. Don't even ask how many bottles of spray-paint it took." If the administration got proof that they were responsible for it, they were _dead_. Not that they probably didn't know that.

They started walking back toward the boys' courts, and Kirihara gave her a strange look. "What're you smiling about? It's weird."

She spoke thoughtfully, imagining the scenario. "Just thinking of the cashier's expression, when you guys bought all those cans of paint—at what, seven in the evening? I mean, how did you explain that? 'Yeah, we just wanna have these on hand. You know, in case of emergencies. Gotta have bread, milk, flashlights, and spray-paint.'"

His eyes flashed with humor. "Nah, it was, 'Dude, so we're like, getting initiated into this gang, right? Hardcore, right? And so like, we have to spray-paint their symbol on every building in Kanagawa. Turn us in and we'll bust you up, know what we're saying?'"

A retort was ready on her lips, but out of nowhere she remembered who he was, and fell silent. At her suddenly reserved demeanor, Kirihara gave her a narrow-eyed stare, but shrugged, and carried on wordlessly. It was just… disconcerting, how he compelled her to say what was on her mind, to speak without thinking it through.

To act like they were just a boy and a girl, just two laughing kids, without any history.

Walking along a path lined with cherry blossom trees, they neared the tennis courts—his strides long and loping, hers shorter and quicker, but evening out to roughly the same pace. The scene was as it normally was: hectic and teeming on the surface, with discipline and focus as a strong, loud undercurrent.

Yukimura stood behind the first court, and Sayoko sat on the steps—the ones leading down to the courts—nearby. Kirihara and An approached them from the left, and overheard the end of the siblings' conversation.

"… you kidding?" Sayoko mumbled, her fingertips touching her lower lip. "I'll never live this down. I'm going to have to move to like, Mexico. And then I'll die in a drug war. _There _went my life."

"Surely you don't have to move to such a hazardous country, or even one so far away," murmured Yukimura, his eyes never leaving the match playing out before him. "I'm sure Taiwan or something along those lines would be suitable." Then something about the set of his mouth changed. "No one's been bothering you." It was a statement, but one that called for confirmation.

The mahogany-haired girl shrugged listlessly. "Not really. I've been with you and Yanagi-senpai and such outside of class, and then I have Kirihara in class. So…" She shrugged again, and stood, stepping down into the courts and striding toward the far end, where Sanada was.

Yukimura's expression didn't change, but An, even as a complete outsider, sensed the tension between him and his sister. It was charged, heated, and pointedly ignored by both blue-eyed teenagers.

"Yukimura-buchou," Kirihara spoke up, jumping down to where his captain stood. "I got her." He sounded pleased and at-attention, a student reporting to and expecting to be praised by a teacher.

An, officially "her," frowned and ignored the steps in favor of jumping down as well, just to show that she could.

Yukimura looked at her and smiled, before glancing back at Kirihara. "Thank you, Akaya. Now, if you'd go practice serves with Yagyuu."

"All _right_," Kirihara grumbled, and jogged away without a backwards glance.

Yukimura turned his attention back to An. "We never actually met, per se. Yukimura Seiichi." He held out a hand, and she shook it. His hand was cool and dry, larger than hers, but still slender and long-fingered, with calluses built up, no doubt, by long hours of serious tennis.

"Tachibana An. Um, nice to meet you." When he didn't say anything, she ventured, "Senpai, what is it you need from me? I mean, well… you _summoned _me."

He looked at her for a moment, his eyes as heavy on her as Kirihara's body had been, pressing her into the grass, before he said calmly, "I want to thank you for what you did for my sister."

_Does that mean he's not going to shank me?_

Unwilling to lie and say that it had been nothing, that she'd been happy to do it, she just nodded. He went on, "I hope that you'll continue to look out for her in the future. I think you're a good friend for her, Tachibana An." His use of her full name was playful, but his intent was serious.

_Why _did she have to explain this to everyone? "Senpai… your sister and I aren't really friends."

He looked at her evenly, still smiling slightly. "Why not?" he asked reasonably, not the least bit offended.

An shrugged a little, kicked the ground. "It's just—I don't, you know, really know her that well. I haven't really gotten a chance to talk to her."

He just _looked _at her.

She winced, then straightened up and spoke honestly. "Your sister… I really _don't _know her that well, but from what I've seen, I don't want to. She seems haughty, self-centered, and manipulative." She bit her lip, wondered whether she'd gone too far, whether she would suffer the wrath of the boys' soccer _and _tennis teams.

But Yukimura took it in stride, didn't bat an eyelash at her censure of his little sister. "Sayoko is everything you accuse her of being," he acknowledged, somewhat resignedly, and adjusted the jacket hanging over his shoulders. "But she isn't a bad person." He held her gaze again, and the conviction in those blue eyes was, An would admit, a strong character recommendation.

Not that Mr. Strip-People-of-Their-Senses-to-Win-a-Tennis-Match was a beacon of moral purity.

"If you say so," she shrugged, and plucked a stray cherry blossom petal from her hair, displeased with the whole situation. A breeze tickled her collarbones.

He was silent a moment, before: "I meant it before, when I said that you would be a good friend for her. It would be a personal favor, if you would look out for my little sister."

She raised her eyebrows. "Are you… trying to bribe me, into being your sister's friend? If she's 'not a bad person,' why does she need your help, making friends? And why _me_?"

He just smiled at her, lovely and infuriating. "Thank you for your time. Sorry to pull you out of practice." It was a dismissal, one even more polite and regal and firm than the one Sayoko had given her and Hiyono at the café. Without missing a beat, he turned back to watching the match, and she just stared at him, her lips parted.

_These people are just… beyond me._

She should have lingered, should have insisted that he answer her questions, but instead, feeling small and powerless, she turned and went back up the steps, walking away toward her own courts, where things made sense, where people didn't have stupid, arresting blue eyes that—

"Wait," a voice called from behind her, high and clear, and An stopped, turned. Sayoko was about fifteen feet behind her. The other girl approached, her hair streaming like a banner in the breeze. Yet An no longer saw the gorgeous, confident girl from that first day of school; instead she saw a girl kneeling on the bathroom floor, crying and vomiting.

She wondered where the middle ground was, whether she would ever look at Sayoko and just see a normal girl, a real person.

"Do you need something?" An asked flatly.

Sayoko's expression was lofty, but brittle, somehow. "What were you talking to my brother about?" She seemed suspicious, and maybe even… jealous. Not that _that _made any sense to An.

She crossed her arms. Shimizu would make her do like, a thousand sprints for taking this long. "He thanked me for yesterday. I guess because you wouldn't do it yourself."

The mahogany-haired girl set her mouth in a thin line, before opening it to say, "Thank you." The words were short, sharp; the thanks expressed more resentment than gratitude, which pissed An off, and the words slipped out unbidden—

"Why are you such a _bitch_?"

Sayoko looked taken aback. "I… what?"

Well, there was no backpedaling. "You," said An, her eyes narrow with irritation. "You're so stuck-up, and confrontational, and just… _mean_."

The look of furious incredulity that Sayoko sent her could have made a bird drop dead from the sky, and An felt it physically, felt it like a blow, but the other girl's next question seemed honest and genuine. "How am I mean?" she demanded, eyebrows raised, expectant, challenging.

An shook her head, incredulous that the other girl was incredulous. "You…!" She cast about for something nasty the blue-eyed girl had said, some insult, but came up… blank. And it wasn't like she went around shoving people into lockers.

"You just…" she grimaced, closed her eyes, then opened them and looked at Sayoko straight-on. "Sometimes you ignore people, treat them like they don't exist, like they're not worth anything at all. And you _hurt _people, with a look, or a tone of voice. It's… it's bullying," she finished lamely, aware that her argument sounded weak, absurd.

When Sayoko only stared as if she were speaking a foreign language, An threw her hands in the air. "Whatever." She started to storm away, but the other girl again called after her.

"Hold on."

She whirled around. "_What?_"

Sayoko looked at her and then away again, her expression at once stony and vulnerable. "You're not going to… about yesterday… in the bathroom…" she shrugged helplessly, arms hugged to her chest.

An waited a moment. "What? Going to gossip about it? Don't be so full of yourself. Believe it or not, I have better things to talk about than you."

And then she did walk away, never looking over her shoulder to meet the wide blue eyes that watched her go.

* * *

Thanks to all the anonymous reviewers that I can't reply to. You guys are tight. (:

Unrelated:  
1) Had a dream that Sanada and Sarah Chalke (from _Scrubs_) wanted to eat me and were chasing me down the street, and other people on the street just watched and were like, "Yeah, there goes another kid being pursued by cannibals... shit happens..."

Disclaimer: I do not own _Prince of Tennis_, or Parachute's "Blame It on Me" (lyrics at the top).


	7. All the While You Hold the Key

**250 Dark Stars**

_(The phone don't ring_

_And the tears they fall_

_But you carry on and on and on)_

…

"C'mon, sweetheart," Niou called over his shoulder. "Keep up. If you lag behind and end up all alone, you'll get mugged, or raped, or something equally horrific. By which I mean, something with equally horrific consequences for us once your brother hears about it."

Sayoko rolled her eyes but picked up the pace, falling in to walk beside Yagyuu, who was to Niou's left. Morning practice had just ended, and her brother had instructed her to go with the two of them into the school building while he stayed behind to supervise cleanup.

The two boys talked, but she kept quiet, looked at the ground. It was hard to interact with any of her brother's teammates—much less her _brother_—knowing they all knew what she'd done with Tsujiai in the empty lab. Her face grew hot just thinking about it. Before, she had never worried about what any of them thought of her. She was just Yukimura's sister.

But now… did they think she was a slut?

She snuck a glance and accidentally made eye-contact with Yagyuu. He gave her a reassuring smile, as if he'd guessed her thoughts. That just embarrassed her more, so she looked away again.

"… just don't get why he's being such a dick about it," Niou was saying. "I mean, what the hell."

"I would presume that your father will give you your credit card back once he feels that you won't max it out buying ridiculous things you don't need," Yagyuu murmured. "Especially when it's abundantly clear you only do it to piss him off."

"If I really wanted to piss him off I'd get a piercing," returned Niou, unfazed. "Anyway, so—"

"Yukimura, come here a second," a voice called from around the corner of the library building. Sayoko vaguely recognized the voice, and trotted over automatically.

"Be right back," she told Niou and Yagyuu, and rounded the corner, approaching the girl that was standing there. "Wha—"

It was executed perfectly. As soon as she was beside one of the library's emergency exit doors, it was thrown open, the edge of it slamming into her face and knocking her to the ground. Her vision went funny, black and swimming, and "whore" was whispered to her, before she heard laughter and running footsteps.

She gasped from the pain as blood poured out of her nose. It _hurt_, damn it damn it _damn _it, it hurt, and she sat up, using her sleeve to stem the flow of blood. It was in this state that Niou and Yagyuu found her, moments later. Sayoko looked up at them, whimpering and trying to hold back tears, and in the eyes of Niou she saw his gentle, almost affectionate sort of contempt for her.

_He _didn't need anybody, while she couldn't do anything by herself.

Immediately, Yagyuu crouched down by her, supporting her back and pulling out a handkerchief, which he helped her press to her nose. He was probably the only person her age that carried a handkerchief. Niou knelt by her too, and absently stroked her hair.

"I'll rock-paper-scissors you for who gets to be in a different country, when Yukimura hears about this," he said to Yagyuu.

"That would be irresponsible," responded the boy whose handsome, clean-cut profile swam in her vision, though she could have sworn she heard him say under his breath, "Best two out of three."

"I'll just tell Oniisan I ran into a door," she mumbled, feeling like a baby, feeling like a loser, feeling like a charity-case, and goddamn her head _hurt_. "It's true, after all."

"Tilt your head back," was all Yagyuu said, helping her to her feet.

"And don't worry about whoever did this," Niou threw in as they, once again, approached the school building—garnering many stares, what with Sayoko being a bloody mess. His smirk was frightening. "I've got plans."

"What, the soccer field wasn't enough for you?" muttered Sayoko, even though she did want him to carry out whatever pranks he had in mind. She wanted people to _pay. _Wasn't the humiliation she'd already suffered enough? Why did people keep trying to ruin her life?

But she knew the answer. By abusing her, people struck blows at her brother, the one they were _really _trying to get at. The one they really cared about.

She couldn't even be hated on her own merit. Fantastic.

Niou and Yagyuu escorted her to a bathroom, where she changed clothes and cleaned herself up. Her nose stopped bleeding quickly enough, and she was able to hide the cut on her forehead with her bangs. They were probably the most useful innovation in the history of hairstyling.

When she reemerged, Niou and Yagyuu were gone (having explained her injury to their captain), but her brother was waiting for her—major déjà vu. Her stomach clenched at the thought. He'd been accosted by some girl, who stared at him worshipfully while chattering.

"… and so, Yukimura-kun, I just wanted you to know that I really, _really _admire you. You're so good at tennis," she blushed, "and you're just so _pretty_, with your long eyelashes…"

Which made her brother's smile, which had been polite, became a bright I-will-fucking-_strangle_-you smile. Sayoko knew that if there was one thing her brother absolutely loathed, it was when people called him pretty or beautiful.

She stepped in, cut the other girl off by grabbing her brother's arm. "Excuse me," she said dismissively. "I need to talk to my brother."

Interrupted mid-babble, the girl blinked. "Oh… okay… well—"

"Goodbye," said Sayoko pointedly, walking off with her brother in tow. Once they were out of sight, she released his arm, and he looked at her, his eyes shining with mirth.

"That was rude," he admonished, knowing that she knew he was grateful and amused.

She smiled at him a little bit shyly, conscious of the tension between them over her comment on his sickness, and of the awkwardness over the Tsujiai scenario. What boy wanted to know of his little sister's dumb-ass escapades in empty computer labs? "People already think I'm a bitch. Might as well roll with it."

At that, her brother seemed to lose himself in thought, and they walked to her homeroom in silence. Normally, she would have prodded him for not paying attention to her, but she wasn't going to do anything to strain their tenuous relationship.

Her brother must have been well-aware of that, because when she took her seat, a girl with mousy hair and a pleased smile approached her. Toudou, maybe? Crap, she really needed to at least learn everyone's names. "Yukimura-san, I just wanted you to know that we're really excited to have you," she enthused. "Looking forward to seeing you at the meeting today."

Sayoko kept the confusion from showing on her face. "Toudou-san…" The other girl didn't look at her blankly, so that meant she had gotten the name right. _This calls for a mental high-five with self._

… If one missed a mental high-five, would it help to watch one's mental elbows?

"Um, Yukimura-san," Toudou hazarded. "Were you saying something?"

Shit. To stop looking like an idiot and to regain the upper-hand, she made the other girl wince by giving her a cool, patronizing smile. "Yes. I was just wondering what meeting you were referring to."

Toudou frowned. "The horticulture club meeting. Your brother spoke to me yesterday afternoon and said that you'd like to join."

Her family was still after her to be more involved in school activities, and her brother must have taken advantage of her newfound compliance by signing her up for something he approved of. He _did _like to garden. She supposed she should at least be grateful that he hadn't snuck her onto the girls' tennis team.

But, damn him, for being so manipulative and cunning and… and… take-advantage-of-ing.

"Right," Sayoko smiled. "Of course. Yes, I'll definitely be there." What harm could it do? She didn't want her brother to be angry at her anymore. She wouldn't be able to bear it if he stayed angry at her.

The teacher took attendance, and when Tachibana An called out "Here," Sayoko bit her lip, recalling their conversation from the day before. She had never thought of herself as nice or kind, but _mean_? Sure, sometimes she sent people sharp glances, or murmured things that, while polite on the surface, had unkind implications. But _everyone_ did that. It wasn't anything out-of-the-ordinary.

Except, she wasn't being honest with herself. She knew that with a single look, or a few choice words, she could cause far more damage than most. The opposite was true as well—she was aware of the effect of her smiles. She knew that, and she took advantage of it. Why not? Her brother did, and it helped him reign over the best team in the country.

She took a wing of hair, started braiding and unbraiding it. That Tachibana An… she was a threat. So outspoken, and sure of herself, and just… strong. That quiet, steady kind of strength that allowed one to stand up and speak out and endure.

She understood strength. Her brother had it in heaps. _She_ just faked strength; she'd forced herself out of bed yesterday, had painstakingly done her hair and makeup and come to school with a damn-the-torpedoes kind of attitude, when really she'd wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

She _still _wanted to. How had her life gone downhill so fast? Maybe she should have found a way to stay in America, where she hadn't been anyone other than the pretty foreign girl. Maybe she could still go back, could give up, stop pretending everything was perfect.

Tachibana An probably didn't have such a defeatist attitude. Somehow, she didn't believe that when push came to shove, she would stand any chance against the girl with the frank blue-gray eyes.

When she thought about it, she'd probably been going about this the wrong way. Feeling threatened by the other girl from day one, she had ignored her, done what she could to make her feel inferior.

Instead, she should have neutralized the threat—should have befriended with the other girl.

Better late than never.

~x~

An was exhausted, not to mention stiff and sore. The earliness and intense rigor of the morning workout sessions was getting to her. She had to serve an hour of detention today, too, and so Shimizu would make her do sprints to make up for it.

Stupid tennis. Why didn't she do a more relaxed sport, like curling? If that even counted…

Her eyelids drooped lower and lower. It didn't help that outside, the sky was gray; overcast days always made her sleepy. She couldn't concentrate… on math… when she… was this… tired…

"Tachibana-kun." The firm, irritated voice was right in her ear, and she shot straight up in her seat—cue snickers from Tsujiai and his gang. Yamato-sensei stood before her desk. "Tachibana-kun," he said again, "you are not so good at math that I will permit you to doze in class. I expected better from you, of all people. What do you have to say for yourself?"

She blinked at him. "I… uh…"

"Sensei," cut in Yukimura Sayoko, "I was wondering if you could do this one example from the homework on the board. I keep getting an answer that's completely different from the one in the back of the book, and—"

Yamato-sensei glanced at her, annoyed. "Yukimura-kun, not n—"

Sayoko gave him a look that was all apology and sheepishness and good-natured self-deprecation. "I'm really sorry, I just want to bring my grade up, you know? I can follow what you're doing on the board, but then when I try to do it myself I just get so lost, and so I'm worried about the quiz today, and…" she shrugged helplessly.

"All right, all _right_, Yukimura," he sighed, and moved toward the whiteboard. "Now pay attention. You don't have room to talk when it comes to classroom focus, either."

She ducked her head, and grinned up at him through her hair. "Yes, sensei," she said with exaggerated meekness, sitting up ramrod straight, her hands clasped and resting on her desk; her expression was studious and thoughtful. Once he completed a few calculations, she rubbed her chin and murmured, "Ahhh, yes, yes, I see."

"Do you," he said wryly, and carried on with the problem.

An, whose inattention was completely forgotten, stared at the other girl. Yukimura Sayoko had just distracted the teacher for her. What kind of parallel universe was she in?

~x~

It started drizzling during their second-to-last class, and by the time school was over, it had become a full-fledged downpour. Yukimura sent everyone but the regulars home, and the remaining players took to the four indoor courts, which they had to share with the girls.

With the two courts regulated to them, the boys broke up into doubles matches: Yanagi/Kirihara pair vs. Marui/Jackal pair, and Yukimura/Sanada pair vs. Niou/Yagyuu pair.

In the first game, Akaya hit a singularly impressive overhead, and looked around to see how many people had been impressed. This was the first time he'd paid attention to the girls, and he noticed that they were playing one doubles match and a two vs. one game—they were short a regular.

He quickly surmised that it was Tachibana An.

It was weird, how he took more notice of her than was usual. She wasn't as pretty as Sayoko, or as smart as their class representative, Naohito, or as athletic as Fuyumi or Shimizu. She was just—it was kind of hard to ignore the way she spoke freely and laughed brightly and seemed to have a hell of a good time just being alive.

Except for when she was around him.

Marui's serve went slicing past him, and Akaya blinked. "That was yours," he accused Yanagi, knowing full well that by rules of the game, only he had been allowed to return it. But, as a general policy, he made things other people's fault.

Yanagi just gave a small sigh and walked back to the baseline—now it was his turn to return. "You have such incredible focus, Akaya… make use of it, won't you?"

"Seriously," Marui called from across the net. "I mean, maybe it would be understandable if you were lost in really deep, profound thoughts, but you were probably just thinking something like, 'Man, I could really go for a sandwich.'"

"Or, 'How much money can I mooch off of my upperclassmen today?'" threw in Jackal, disgruntled but fond.

"I'm ignoring all of you," Akaya declared, taking his position by the net. "I hope you all feel ignored. Because you're being ignored. By me. As in, I'm ignoring you. Right now. In fact—"

Marui served, and Yanagi sent it zooming back, but Jackal snuck in a forehand volley that rushed right by Akaya, bouncing in the alley and spinning away.

The green-eyed ace made a face. "I hate doubles."

"It's good for you," Yanagi reminded him, checking his racquet strings to make sure none had broken or gotten loose. "Improves your skill at the net."

"God knows your net-play needs the improvement," Niou piped in from the adjacent court, whipping his lefty forehand at Sanada. Akaya willed the taciturn vice-captain to hit the ball right back at the smirking trickster's face, but instead he did the exact opposite, crushing the ball toward an area of the court neither Niou nor Yagyuu had covered. Point for Yukimura/Sanada pair.

"Haha," Akaya grinned. "Way to have my back, Sanada-fukubuchou."

"Play your match," the hazel-eyed youth ordered. "Or you'll be running laps."

"In the rain," added Yukimura from where he stood at the net, smiling with unholy amusement.

"With the lions, and tigers, and bears," murmured Yagyuu.

"You all gang up on me because you feel threatened by my awesome," Akaya sighed, and took his position again. "Ready when you are, Marui-senpai."

An hour into practice, the Tachibana girl did show up, shaking rainwater out of her hair and mumbling an explanation to her vice-captain, who seemed both annoyed and amused. Akaya caught the phrase "run you into the ground tomorrow" before the chestnut-haired girl was sent to pair up with the girl who had been playing alone versus two others.

While Tachibana was given a few minutes to warm up, Akaya focused on his own match—stupid Jackal-senpai had been improving his offensive skills, and Marui-senpai his defensive skills—but when the girls actually started playing, he found himself listening in, glancing over.

Inn the second game, she called out "Got it," and set herself up for a spectacular backhand down the line—before firing it right into the net. "Uh," she blinked. "Just kidding." Then she laughed good-naturedly.

Her partner, while still good (for a _girl_), wasn't one of the better regulars, and they ended up losing the first set. Tachibana bumped the other girl lightly with her hip. "Don't worry," she said, loud enough for their opponents to hear, "we didn't want that set anyway. We're setting ourselves up for a dramatic comeback."

"You're asking for it, Tachibana," laughed a girl on the other side of the net.

The Tachibana girl… she was kind of interesting, to Akaya. She knew the match didn't count for anything, and so had fun, but still ran for every ball and worked hard to turn the tide of the match. She was competitive, and he understood that.

What he didn't understand was why she'd done what she had for Sayoko. She herself had admitted they weren't friends—so why help her? To get in good with Yukimura? But she seemed just as wary of the Child of God as she was of Akaya himself.

What was up with _that_, anyway? It wasn't that he wanted to be friends with her, but why didn't _she _want to be around _him_? He was pretty damn great, and he _did _say so himself. Recalling their conversation on the roof, he thought about her brother. Tachibana Kippei. Sure, he'd roughed the guy up. It was a sport, it happened. Could she really be holding a grudge because of that?

He was probably putting too much thought into it, probably giving the girl more attention than she deserved. But he admitted to himself that she was pretty and fun, and that yesterday, when, briefly, he'd gotten her to talk to him like she would to anyone else, he'd felt—pleased. Like whatever he had going on with her was a game, and he'd scored a point.

And then she had shut down on him, but… games weren't fun if they weren't challenging.

~x~

An took a swig of water. She and her partner were losing, but she wasn't a doubles player to begin with. And she was satisfied with the way she was playing. Her footwork was good, her backhand solid, her forehand excellent. She could probably be doing better at the net, but—hey, good enough.

Shimizu came up and kicked her ankle lightly as a way of getting her attention. "So, in addition to the extra sprints you'll be doing for being late—what's a good kid like you doing in detention?—you'll also be doing footwork drills. Those feet of yours need to be faster and more precise." She made a face. "And I haven't even decided where to _start _on your volleys."

Okay, An wanted to be better. She wanted to play tennis and win and have fun and win and be the best. She was grateful that her senpai had taken an interest in her development, but for frick's sake, couldn't she catch a _break_? "My footwork's fine, and my volleys aren't that bad," she mumbled, knowing Shimizu would let her get away with it. She probably couldn't get away with saying what she meant, which was _I'm a really good player, it's not fair that you're being so hard on me!_

"You have Rikkai's standards to live up to now, kiddo," the vice-captain reminded her, toying with a piece of dyed-blond hair. "And our first match is in a week. You'll be playing in Doubles 2."

An spat out the sip she'd just taken from her water bottle.

"But I'm a singles player," she protested, before wincing. _Hi, I'm Tachibana An. Rikkai Dai High School student… member of class 2-B… whiny-ass tennis player…_

Shimizu tilted her head. "Fuyumi wipes the court with me on an almost daily basis, and she'll be playing Doubles 1 for every tournament. Doubles isn't just for people that can't make it in singles, you know."

The chestnut-haired girl wanted to deny that she'd ever believed anything like that, but—the lady did not want to protest too much. So she sighed. "Doubles 2 won't know what hit it."

"As long as all of your shots don't _hit _the net," Shimizu grinned. Then: "That was a lot funnier in my head. Anyway, I just want to take the opportunity to have you at the net in an actual match, before the competition gets tough. You really are a singles player—it's not like we're relegating you to doubles for the rest of the season."

"Oh, thank God," An breathed, unable to help herself, and thankfully, Shimizu just laughed and walked away.

She'd been pointedly not looking anywhere near the courts that the boys were using, but when twenty minutes were left in the practice session, Yukimura declared that they should all use the ball machines. "Tachibana-kun," he called pleasantly. "If you'd help me get them out?"

_Right, because you need my big, strong muscles, _she thought sullenly, knowing there was no way she could refuse. As she trotted over to him, she passed Kirihara, and snuck a glance his way. He noticed, damn him, and grinned tauntingly, waggling his fingers at her.

She stuck her tongue out at him.

Yukimura led her to one of the athletic storage closets and opened the door, motioning for her to go in ahead of him. "How has your day been?" he inquired courteously. What was that expression? _Kill people with kindness?_

"Um," she said, feeling awkward and somewhat indignant, considering the last interaction she'd had with him. She went over to the section for the tennis equipment. "My day has been… day-ish. Yours?" God, she hated being polite when she didn't want to be.

"Quite day-ish," he answered, and she could hear the smile in his voice.

She avoided meeting his eyes. He'd requested her assistance in order to get her alone, use his overwhelming charisma to push her around. Make her agree to baby-sit his sister. "So here are the machines," she said, a little too loudly, and got behind one to push it out. It was on wheels, but the stupid thing was pretty heavy.

"Note to self: Acquire upper-body strength," she muttered, and was surprised to hear him laugh. It was a light, young laugh, and it almost made her smile. He pulled from the other side, and they got that machine and a few others maneuvered to be wheeled out to the courts.

A big crate of balls was on a shelf, and she reached up to get it. She wove her fingers through the wire mesh, tugged lightly—and sent the whole shelf crashing down.

She yelped and darted out of the way, but not quick enough, and Yukimura grabbed her arm, pulling her sharply aside. They covered their heads as the shelf and all its contents—cans of cool-down spray, wrist-weights, boxes of grip tape, and tennis balls—rained down around them.

When it was over, as balls bounced and rolled on the floor, the blue-eyed boy remarked, "Well, that was exciting."

"Um—yeah," An giggled, punch-drunk from the suddenness of it all. "Uh, I guess… thanks." For keeping her from getting brained by a heavy plank of wood. She really _did_ need to improve her footwork.

He nodded, and inspected the shelf. "I won't pretend to know anything but carpentry, but I'm going to bet that the bolts holding this to the wall were loosened." They shared a glance, and a thought: another one of the boys' soccer team's mean-spirited pranks.

She would have been angrier, but, looking at Yukimura, she knew the jerks would get what was coming to them.

How had they ended up on the same side?

* * *

Do you like waffles, yeah, I like waffles...

Disclaimer: I do not own _Prince of Tennis _or Green River Ordinance's "On Your Own" (lyrics at the top).


	8. The End of Fear is Where We Begin

**250 Dark Stars**

_(Spin 'round_

_Tell me what to say_

_Break down)_

…

The next morning, An walked into homeroom with Sayoko's umbrella and a frown. It had still been raining when practiced ended yesterday, and somehow her aunt's umbrella—which she had borrowed, because the soccer team had ruined hers—had disappeared . Sayoko, having shown up to walk home with her brother, had offered the use of hers.

An had accepted out of self-interest. Dying of pneumonia was not on her to-do list. But now she had to return the stupid thing. It was rather plain, as far as umbrellas went: a simple navy blue.

She approached Sayoko, who sat at her desk reading a magazine. She fully expected it to be _Vogue _or _Seventeen _or something, but when the other girl closed it and looked up at her, it turned out to be _Foreign Policy_.

"Here," said the chestnut-haired girl, handing the apparatus over. "Thank you for letting me use it." She really had to find out where her aunt's umbrella had gotten to. Perhaps she should put up Lost Umbrella posters… _Last seen: In the auxiliary gym. Color: Black. Responds to: Umbrella, Umbrella-chan, and That-Which-Keeps-Rain-Off-of-Me._

Sayoko met her eyes and smiled the dazzle-smile. It was damned difficult to keep from smiling back. "No problem, An."

She blinked at the other girl's audacity in using her given name. That tactic was a double-edged sword, though, and An threw it right back in her face. "Well, thanks again, Sayoko." But when the other girl's response was just another smile, she walked away feeling like they were playing a new game, a different one, and no one had told her the rules.

Then again, Sayoko seemed like the type of person to make the rules up as she went along.

~x~

The boys were doing overhead drills when Sayoko approached, towing a red wagon behind her. It creaked and rattled, drawing everyone's attention; more than one person swung and completely missed the ball. The girl ignored the curious, bemused looks sent her way and, with a toss of her hair, proceeded to the bleachers.

Niou, who had been taking a water break, loped over to take a look. In the wagon was a single seedling, bravely peeking out of a black plastic container of soil. The tiny plant took up at most a twentieth of the space in the wagon.

"How special," said the pale-haired boy, his flat tone indicating that he didn't mean special in the unique, positive kind of way.

For once, though, Sayoko didn't bristle at his thinly-veiled disdain. Instead, she stuck her chin in the air. "Isn't he cute? I'm raising him for horticulture club. His name is Kiyoshi-kun." Then she tilted her head. Or did he look more like a Momiji? She might have to put more thought into it.

"I can't believe you named a weed," Niou sneered, standing hipshot a few feet away from her.

She treated him to a lofty look. "He's a _green bean_." By the time her brother walked over a minute later, the situation had digressed into a "_You're _a green bean," "No, _you're _a green bean" argument.

"You're both green beans," declared the charismatic youth. "Niou, this is an exceptionally long water break you're taking. Do you need to be hooked up to an IV, or will you be on court in ten seconds?"

_Fourteen _seconds later—because Niou, on principle, liked to at least delay obedience—he was slamming an overhead at a hapless first-year, and Sayoko's brother turned to her. "Are you enjoying horticulture club?"

Correct answer: Yes. _True_ answer: Meh.

"It's kind of fun," she shrugged. "Maybe I'll follow in your footsteps and lead us to the vegetable-growing nationals, or something." God, imagine that… The gathering place of losers.

He looked at her, and she shifted uncomfortably. Finally he said, "You don't _have _to stick with the club. Just do something you're interested in." At the face she made, he leveled a look at her. "I know there aren't any sports you like, and you're not interested in art or anything like that… but you like politics. Why not join student council?"

Many arguments could be made, but she settled for the most straightforward one. "We already have a class representative."

The curve of his smile was sweet and wicked. "But if you didn't, would you want to be?"

"Uh… sure, I guess." Sayoko eyed him warily. Before she could ask what he was up to, a tennis ball flew past them and hit the wagon, knocking the seedling over, stem snapping and soil spilling out.

A pause.

"Oh, for the love of _Christ_!" she yelled in English. It was a phrase her host sister had often used. She whirled, and spotted the boy who had hit the ball by the deer-in-the-headlights look on his face. Coincidentally, it was the first-year who had been returning Niou's smashes.

"Twenty laps around the courts, _now_," she snapped. He stared at her, then glanced at her brother. When the blue-eyed boy said nothing, the first-year hesitantly put down his racquet and started jogging.

Then her brother interjected, his eyes shining with amusement, his voice stern. "Stop. Why would you follow the orders of someone who isn't even a member of this club?" The first-year, flabbergasted, just stood there. "Ten laps for listening to her," Sayoko's brother instructed, tilting his head toward her.

When he turned away, his expression spoke of satisfaction at the havoc he had just wreaked on the poor boy's brain. "Kiyoshi-kun," Sayoko murmured, setting the seedling upright, only to have it bend pathetically at the stem. Then, she couldn't help it: she laughed a little at the absurdity of it all.

Her brother watched, and her brother smiled.

~x~

After a practice spent doing footwork and volley drills—ones where she basically had to hit the volley or get pegged in the face by the ball—An walked home with Hiyono, and after they'd both changed, they went for a run.

An thought she was going to die.

"How do you do this after practice every day?" she gasped as they finished the last kilometer and dropped down to a walk.

"I don't do it _every _day," said Hiyono, also breathing hard, though not as hard as the chestnut-haired girl. "And, I don't know… I just have to keep thinking about how it gives me an advantage over everyone else. You know?"

"Yeah, I guess," An shook her head, irritated by the realization that her friend had better stamina than she did. Her inadequacies kept getting thrown in her face. "God, my legs ache. I think one day I'm gonna wake up and find that they've run off to be some lazy, physically inactive person's legs. And then I'll have to get a wheelchair, and use my arms to push myself everywhere, and then my _arms _are gonna desert me and—" She stopped because she'd run out of breath.

Hiyono just laughed, her face framed by strands of hair that had straggled free of her ponytail. "Ready to head back?"

An made a face, envisioning the pile of homework that awaited her. "You go on ahead. I'm just going to…" she shrugged, and the other girl, used to her eccentricities, waved goodbye and began a slow jog back to their apartment complex.

After resting for a minute, she started wandering around, and ended up going into a dim, not particularly crowded arcade. Whether she was surprised to find Kirihara Akaya there, she wasn't sure. Mostly she just felt resigned. Walking over to a driving game, she started thinking up witty comebacks to whatever he would say when he noticed her. She knew he would swagger over to taunt her, or grin at her, or just… do something Kirihara-y.

When fifteen minutes passed and he still hadn't approached her, she was somewhat at a loss. She knew he was aware of her, had felt his eyes on her. She got tense, sneaking glances at him. He was killing zombies left and right. Had he left her alone because he was absorbed by the game, or because he knew that his avoidance unsettled her more than any jibe?

It pissed her off when he didn't act the way she expected him to.

Maybe a role reversal was in order. She hopped up and strolled over to stand behind him. Without looking away from the screen, he asked, "Whatcha doing?"

"Being you," An told him coolly. This close, she could smell him—pine and boy and cinnamon. "All loom-y and leer-y and stuff. Pretty annoying, huh?"

"Ooh, here, I'll be you," he grinned, and, after slaying a final zombie, spun around in the seat to face her. He clapped his hands together. "Everybody look at me! I'm so wonderful and sparkly and self-righteous, _yay_!" He crossed his arms over his chest, leaned back with a haughty tilt to his chin. "So, seriously. Why'd you stalk me here?"

She almost sputtered at him, before realizing that really was what it seemed like—to someone as conceited as Kirihara, anyway. So, she rolled with it. "Wanted to see how losers spend their time." Speaking of which, she should stop wasting hers, and go home to do her homework. But _God_, she didn't want to.

He shook his head sadly. "_That's _the thanks I get for keeping the world safe from the undead… I bet you couldn't even get _half _of my score."

To take him down a peg or two would be fun. "Maybe. But I bet I can kick your ass at air-hockey."

When Kirihara smirked and said, "Don't get yourself in over your head, Tachibana," she just smiled sweetly at him—as she did again, ten minutes later, when he scowled at her after getting his ass kicked. "Rematch," he demanded. "You cheated."

"How?"

"By scoring more points than me!"

An spun the puck on one finger—a technique she'd practiced for hours because it looked cool. "You're just a sore loser." She held his gaze confidently. "And no, I won't play a rematch with you. I'll just beat you again, and then you'll like, hurl your mallet at my face."

She'd actually meant it as a joke, but he drew himself up to his full height, and she could _feel_ the change in him. Suddenly, they were opponents, and he was staring her down from across the net. "What, you scared?" he sneered, and there was something in his eyes, something wild and hard and vicious. "Guess being a pansy runs in the family."

For a moment, she could only blink at his abrupt change in disposition, could only wonder at the reason for the switch. The mischievous, lively boy she'd grown used to was gone, replaced by someone that was all arrogance and aggression.

Then again, this was the person she'd known him to be all along.

"Screw you." She dropped the puck onto the table with a clatter, before turning on her heel and storming out into the cool evening air.

~x~

To take advantage of how long the cherry blossoms had stuck around, the student council decided to throw an impromptu hanami festival after the half-day of school on Saturday. Home economics classes were devoted to making food for the celebration. When the final bell rang, students were released to club activities; the festival would take place afterwards.

At the end of the girls' tennis practice, a meeting was held. "All right, everybody, listen up," Shimizu ordered through a megaphone—she'd been using it to bark out criticism of An's footwork all day. With the volume it added, the whole _school _probably knew that she was consistently late on her running backhand.

Fuyumi opened her mouth to speak, and Shimizu held up the megaphone. "You want this?"

"I'm good, thanks," said the brown-eyed girl dryly. "At any rate… tomorrow is our first match. We get a bye in the first round. From our scouting, it looks like it'll be a dogfight for which school plays us in the second round, but we have our lineup figured out."

She glanced at Shimizu, who set down her megaphone so that she could flip through a notebook. "Uhhh… yeah, okay, here we go. Doubles 2: Tachibana and Katsuragi. Doubles 1: Fuyumi and Takamiya. Singles 3: Fujimaru. Singles 2: Shiina. Singles 1: Yours truly. Fuyumi, you got anything else to say?"

The captain shook her head no, so the girl with the green-gray eyes shut her notebook and grinned. "Coolio." She spread her arms wide. "Be free!"

It was pretty warm for late April, and An went off to a water fountain—she was _thirsty_. On her way, she passed the girls' clubhouse, and saw with some surprise that Sayoko was in the area. With more surprise, she watched as the other girl glided over with a smile and a wave, as if they were old friends. As if they were _friends_, period.

"Hey," said the blue-eyed girl brightly. "How was practice?" The students were permitted to wear street clothes for the festival, and she looked very American in dark skinny jeans, red Converse, and a light gray T-shirt with splashes of color and an English word scribbled in white.

"Good," answered An cautiously, and went to brush by her classmate, but the other girl swiveled, falling into step beside her. Upon taking note of their direction, she asked with a smile:

"Oh, are you heading for the water fountain? Here." She stopped and dug around in the bag slung over her shoulder, and out of a thin veneer of politeness, An had to stop, too. A moment later, the mahogany-haired girl held out a bottle of flavored water for her to take.

Okay, why was everyone suddenly acting all weird and uncharacteristic? "Uh…"

"It was for my brother," Sayoko explained cheerfully, "but he shouldn't drink it. It has a lot of calories, and he's watching his waistline." In response to the chestnut-haired girl's stare, her smile finally looked a little forced. "I'm kidding."

Oh. Yukimura Sayoko was one of the last people she'd expected to have a sense of humor. She motioned for the other girl to retract the bottle. "You should give it to your brother. Thanks for the offer, though."

Another brilliant smile. "No, I insist."

"Really, I can't accept it," An asserted, and watched as irritation and conceit sparked in those blue eyes, though the smile remained fixed in place. It seemed as if she would insist again, if only to make some show of dominance, but after a moment, she shrugged and put the bottle back in her bag.

"Well, all right. I'll see you around, then." She turned to go, and against her better judgment, An piped up with a question that had been bugging her.

"Hey… so, if your brother is the Child of God, what does that make you?"

Sayoko blinked, and almost as a reflex, her hand came up to touch her lip, as if she were going to chew her nails in thought. "Um… I guess technically that makes me also a Child of God. But honestly…? Probably more like God's Least-Favorite, Twice-Removed Niece." She shrugged, and smiled a little, a smile that was not bright or dazzling, but crooked and a little bit shy, a little bit warm.

An blinked as well.

~x~

"Great job," An said to Hiyono as the other girl sat down on their blanket, having just finished among the top 3 in the 100 meter dash—one of the competitions that was being held. "They'll probably try and recruit you for the track team."

"They already did," Hiyono grinned, grabbing a drink and taking a long sip. "I told them track is boring."

"What, are you kidding? I _love _running in circles. I feel like it's a super productive use of my time," An joked, stretching her arms over her head. She hadn't gone running with the other girl yesterday. Once was enough.

The student body was spread out on blankets over the school campus. They bought food from stands, and watched the competitions; when it was dark enough, there would be an outdoor movie projection. The whole event wasn't particularly exciting, but it was nice to just be out in the sunshine, and the cherry blossoms _were _beautiful.

Kiko, who was lying beside them, took out her earphones and shook her head at Hiyono, whose face was still covered in a faint sheen of sweat. "I can't believe you _volunteered _to run in that thing. I mean, I would do it if it didn't involve physical exertion—like an electric scooter race."

"So basically, you'd be competing to see who can push a button the longest?" An raised an eyebrow.

"_That's _how you separate the men from the boys," Hiyono said with a straight face, though it cracked into a quick smile.

An just laughed and got up to buy a snack. On her way, a boy with short black hair and connect-the-dot pimples handed her a filled squirt-gun. He had a box full of them. "Squirt-gun fight later. Gotta arm up."

Ecstatic, she forsook food to wander around, shooting water up in the air and trying to catch it in her mouth. When she got to a part of the grounds that wasn't completely overrun by teenagers, she flopped down on the grass and laid one arm across her eyes, blocking out the sun.

She'd never been a _huge _nature-fanatic, but she'd needed this opportunity to relax. School was stressful, tennis was demanding, and the Yukimura siblings seemed determined to make all other aspects of her life complicated. So it was great to just lie there in the peace and quiet—

"_Here _you are, finally."

Just kidding.

Kirihara—she could tell by his voice—threw himself down beside her. "What are you _doing_?" he wanted to know, in the tone one would use when asking the same question of someone found eating glue or trying to make a bike out of bubble-wrap.

"Making grass-angels," she muttered, keeping her arm over her eyes. Had he come and found her just to be a douche to her again? He seemed to be back to his normal self, though. Except—mean, cruel Kirihara _was _his normal self.

Wasn't it?

"You're a weird kid," he said flippantly, and punched her lightly in the arm. Suddenly she didn't feel the sun on her torso, and she knew he was leaning over her. "Come on, get up. We don't have a lot of time."

Her pale green T-shirt had ridden up, exposing a strip of her abdomen, and she tugged it back down. "What, do you have appointments to keep? 'At twelve I have to be mean to this person, and then at one I need to glare at that one kid, and then I need to hurry so I'll be on time to push whatshisface in a mud puddle…'"

"That'd be lame," he scoffed. "I'd push 'im into a pit of cobras." A pause. "Actually, I'm afraid of snakes. So let's make it a pit of rabid monkey-wolverine hybrids." His voice brightened considerably. "Wouldn't that be _awesome_?"

She didn't want to agree with him, but—it really would. Instead, she lowered her arm. Kirihara was looking down at her, his dense black curls falling into a face that was animated and fervent and _young_. She had to admit it, she was baffled by this boy, this boy who was at once cunning and spirited, malicious and childlike. She'd never met anyone like him.

So she squirted water in his face.

He jerked away with a yelp, and when she threw her head back and laughed, he growled and lunged for the squirt-gun, snatching it from her hand and darting away before she could grab it back. "Gimme my squirt-gun!" she yelled at him, scrambling to her feet.

"Gotta catch me first, loser!" he called over his shoulder, and took off. She ran as fast as she could, but, in light brown capris and white sandals, her speed was limited. Kirihara, wearing black jeans and a graphic T-shirt, seemed to deliberately stay out of her reach, but close enough that she wouldn't give up.

Not that she would, because she _wanted that squirt-gun_, damn it.

He led her toward an auxiliary gym, where the whole boys' tennis team—starters and non-starters all—lounged around outside of, along with various hangers-on. Sayoko, sat against a tree, reading a book. The boys were roughhousing and talking, but there was an air of great expectation.

They were waiting for something.

Kirihara skidded to a stop, and it took all of her athleticism not to crash into him. With a grin, he tossed her squirt-gun back to her. "Looks like we made it in time. Thought you'd want to see this."

Before she could ask, Marui strolled over, mussing Kirihara's hair while smiling cheerfully at An. "Hey, what goes on. Is this going to make your day, or is this going to make your day?" From her baffled expression, he seemed to surmise that she was completely out of the loop, and rolled his eyes at Kirihara.

"You didn't even tell her? Christ, Akaya, get with it." The green-eyed boy made to interject, but the volley specialist went on heedlessly. "So Niou's way good at impersonating people, right? Even imitating people's voices. So like, fifteen minutes ago he snuck into the main office—"

"Yanagi-senpai knows everything about how the school operates," Kirihara threw in.

"—and came on over the loudspeaker pretending to be the boys' soccer coach. He announced that there was going to be an impromptu meeting in the auxiliary gym for the starters right about…" Marui checked his watch, "now."

"Um," said An. "Cool?"

"Hell yes," Marui nodded, blowing a bubble and popping it. "See, they're assembled in the gym right now—just the starters, 'cause the whole team would be hard to handle. Any second now, the lights are gonna go out. We've got like, fifteen random kids hiding in there with night-vision goggles—not sure_exactly _how we came to get those. Yagyuu says he's 'acquainted with a certain gentleman,' which is his way of saying he knows a guy."

The boys' tennis regulars were an interesting lot, she'd give them that. "So what are these random kids with night-vision goggles going to do, once the lights go out?" She fiddled with a lock of hair.

Marui grinned, and was about to answer when the gym's windows went dark, and noise was heard from inside, crashing and smashing and yelling. Two minutes later, a group of outraged, disoriented boys stumbled out—each one of them bound mummy-style with masking tape, and drenched in glitter-glue.

That would _never _come out of their hair.

The people watching laughed and snapped pictures, jeered and sneered and yelled insults. The tennis team, it seemed, had a strong sense of solidarity. Yukimura, smiling, approached the stumbling, yowling team, flanked on either side by Sanada and Yanagi. No one else could hear the brief conversation that took place, but it ended when the soccer captain snarled something and led the pathetic group off.

"This is such a great place to go to school," Marui remarked to no one in particular, and An might have said something in response, but she'd just noticed that Kirihara had gotten his hands on another squirt-gun, and was smiling at her dangerously.

"Shit," she said.

They chased each other around, squirting and yelling and swearing and laughing, and when they ran out of water they were soaked and grass-stained and tired, and she couldn't help but think that she was doing pretty okay here, at this school. Even with these people.

* * *

Akaya's coming off as PMS-y. It'll get explained. And he really _is _a moody, volatile person. Anyway. I promise we'll build up to substantial KiriAn. This is going to be a longish story, and I don't want to rush anything. So I hope everyone will stick around. (:

Disclaimer: I do not own _Prince of Tennis _or The All-American Rejects' "Eyelash Wishes" (lyrics at the top).


	9. Check Yes Juliet, Here's the Countdown

**250 Dark Stars**

_(From the shallows in love_

_To the depths of your scars_

_You know you want to change)_

…

The next morning, An pulled on her tennis uniform—a straight white skort with black trim, and then a jersey and jacket virtually the same as those worn by the boys. The yellow made her look like an overripe banana, but what the hell.

She stared at herself in the mirror, turned this way and that. The uniform made her look like she meant business. It squared her shoulders, highlighted the firmness in her gaze. It made her look like a real athlete.

How strange, that she would wear Rikkai yellow.

"I'm going," she announced to her aunt, who sat at the kitchen table with her laptop, and looked up with a distantly surprised expression as she took in her niece's attire.

"You have a match today?"

_I told you a week ago, and reminded you again last night. _"Just the district preliminaries."

"Do your best." With that, her aunt returned to her work, and An slipped out the door, fumbling her transit-card out of her wallet. It wasn't like she'd moved in with her aunt expecting maternal warmth, but…

She did get lonely, sometimes. Perhaps she should invest in a goldfish.

Many of her teammates were already at the tournament grounds when she got there. It was about eight o'clock in the morning; because more people cared about the boys' matches, the girls' were always held earlier. The sky was gray, the weather somewhat cool, but Shimizu looked up from her phone and announced that rain was not in the forecast.

"So, let's see who's here," she went on. Her yellow jacket clashed absolutely _horrendously _with her dyed-blond hair, which seemed to please her a great deal. "We're only missing…" she looked around, and smirked, "Fuyumi. Our unflappable captain is not a morning person."

Now that An thought about it, she couldn't recall ever seeing the captain at morning weight-room sessions. At just that moment, though, Fuyumi trudged over, yawned a "Hello," and poured a neon-colored energy drink down her throat. It was the least composed An had ever seen her.

Shimizu toyed with the cross hanging from a chain around her neck. "It doesn't matter today because we have a bye the first round, and some of you will remember this from last year, but… Doubles 2 players should always try to make their match last as long as possible, so that Fuyumi has a chance to wake up in time for Doubles 1."

"'M awake," Fuyumi mumbled.

"Sure you are, honey. Remember, gang, we are _Rikkai_. That means no giggling, smiling, joking, being nice to opponents, etc. We are tough and intimidating, damn it—I said _intimidating_, Tachibana, not bored and sleepy." An adjusted her expression appropriately, and Shimizu continued, "Anyway… off to register!"

And with that, she bounded off toward the registration desk, whistling the theme from _Mission Impossible_.

"Where does she get all that _energy_?" Fujimaru Imari, the only other second-year regular, murmured incredulously.

"She sleeps in class every day," grinned Takamiya Miaka—a classmate to both Shimizu and Fuyumi, as well as Fuyumi's doubles partner. The auburn-haired girl slung an arm around the tall captain's shoulders. "Come on, buddy, let's go find you some caffeine."

They were playing on Court A, and were to meet there in an hour—it was in use for the first round. Even teams that had a bye were required to show up at the same time as everyone else so that they could register.

An and Kiko—the non-starters had shown up for support—wandered around the tournament grounds. They saw a few promising players, but not very many good _teams_. Everywhere they went, their Rikkai colors earned them sidelong glances and murmured comments.

"You ready for your match?" the honey-haired girl wanted to know, her large brown eyes warm and curious.

An plucked a leaf from a nearby hedge and tore it in half. "Yeah. I mean—it's just, in all the practices we've had, Shimizu-fukubuchou hasn't put me in doubles matches, or even any doubles _drills_. We've done a lot of work at the net, but…" she shrugged.

Kiko thought about that. "Well, you told me before that they're not planning to keep you in doubles, right? They just want you to be better at the net. So they probably just don't _care _whether or not you do well in doubles, as long as you win and hit good volleys."

So An decided to do just that.

The girls they were playing were only okay, but seemed well-versed in doubles strategies, and consistently kept the ball away from the net-player. An was able to sneak in a few volleys, and Katsuragi a few more, but most of their points they won from the baseline.

Beyond that, the Katsuragi/Tachibana pair… wasn't meant to be. They were both singles players, and not particularly knowledgeable about each other's style of play. And, okay, An kept trying to outdo her partner. She would have to work on the teamwork-comes-before-competitiveness thing.

After winning the first set 6 – 3, they reported to Fuyumi, who sat on the bench and seemed, by that point, reasonably alert. "When either of you is at the net, come in closer to the center. Put pressure on them."

Respectfully, Katsuragi voiced what An was thinking. "But then they can pass us down the line."

Fuyumi rubbed at one eye. "That's a low-percentage shot. You don't have to worry about it, with these girls. If they pass you once or twice, it's fine, because they won't be able to do it consistently. What will be consistent is you guys controlling the points by crowding the net."

They took their captain's advice, and An was extremely annoyed when she got passed, but—the tactic worked, and they wrapped up the set 6 – 1.

"That was some pretty crappy doubles-play, but way to win, at least." Shimizu grinned at them, before hopping over the divide to take the coach's bench as Fuyumi and Takamiya got on the court. A small number of people watched from the sidelines, more than there were for any of the other girls' matches. Even in the district preliminaries, Rikkai drew spectators no matter what.

Fuyumi/Takamiya pair won 6 – 0, 6 – 0 in thirty-five minutes.

As the two girls walked off the court without having even broken a sweat, An and Katsuragi traded a glance, both thinking: _We just got shown up._

Rikkai won Singles 3 easily as well, meaning they would advance—not, of course, that there had been any doubt in anyone's mind. Still, because it was their first match, they played all five, and finished up a little before noon.

After everyone had shaken hands at the net, Fuyumi dismissed them, and as An was packing up her stuff, she asked Kiko, "Want to go to the bookstore with me?"

Kiko blinked. "You don't want to stay and watch the boys play?"

An shrugged. "They get a bye in the first round, and then they'll probably slaughter whoever's in the second round… it doesn't sound particularly exciting." She thought about it. "Unless they do it on pogo sticks. Everything's more exciting on pogo sticks."

"It's true," came a voice from behind them, and they turned to find Kirihara, a smirk on his face and a tennis bag slung over his shoulder. "Math on pogo sticks actually doesn't make me want to kill myself."

Kiko glanced back and forth between the two, and An remained silent, considering the black-haired boy before her. She wasn't sure how to respond. She didn't want to encourage him by bantering, but it was hard not to. He just _got _to her, could make her yell and smile and speak her mind. She recalled the day before—his flash-of-lightning grin, the colorful plastic squirt-guns, her own laughter.

What if it made him think that they were _friends_, or something?

She thought about the boy that had hurt her brother, the boy she'd glimpsed in the arcade—vicious and arrogant. She searched for him in the boy that stood watching her.

~x~

Akaya squinted at the girl with the blue-gray eyes. She was looking at him weird, her face scrunched up in thought. She wasn't any fun when she was all quiet and contemplative, so he decided to push her buttons. "Stop mentally undressing me."

At that, her expression turned incredulous, though he was pleased to note the slight flush coloring her cheeks. "You are _un_believable."

He just grinned at her. "So, did you lose, or what? Can't have losers running around wearing Rikkai jerseys—it gives us a bad name."

"Believe me, your bad name is all your own doing," she scoffed, blowing light brown hair out of her eyes.

"I don't _have _a bad name, for your information," he informed her mock-superciliously, though he knew he did. "When people hear my name, they're like, 'Oh, you mean that really awesome, good-looking kid. What a boss.'"

She sneered at him playfully. "Actually, they just go," and here she adopted a tone of scorn, "'Oh, you mean _that _kid. Yeah, I hear he's so violent because he's compensating for something.'"

Jackal, who had walked over, spoke up before Akaya could retort. "Akaya, come on. We're registering." He looked curiously at the Tachibana girl and her friend, and the former smiled and waved at him.

"Yeah, fine," Akaya grumbled, but turned and walked over to his senpai all the same. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw that the chestnut-haired girl was watching him again, her eyes questing, probing, seeking.

And he felt it, the same impulse he'd had at the arcade—to hurt her. She was so self-assured, so outspoken, and he didn't understand _why_. If he broke her, took her apart piece by piece, maybe, when he reassembled her, she would make _sense_.

So he smirked at her, and called out, "When you come to watch my match, make sure to stand back, so you don't get hurt." His smirk grew more pronounced. "I'd hate for you to wind up like that brother of yours."

He turned and walked away, Jackal following after a beat. The girl didn't shout anything at him, which meant she'd resorted to just glaring at his back. He grinned.

~x~

Sayoko sighed. The first-round matches were taking so _long_. Why couldn't they just do rock-paper-scissors to decide the winner? No matter who went on to the second round, they'd lose to Rikkai_anyway_. Might as well save everyone the time and hassle.

The team was hanging out at some tables shaded by striped umbrellas. It was pretty warm out—Sayoko wore a blue romper with gold embroidery, and she lifted the mass of her hair off her neck so that a cool breeze could touch it. Yanagi was listening to his mp3 player, Yagyuu read a book, and Sanada simply sat. The rest of the boys were playing BS.

She'd considered bringing _Twister _to play, but had decided it would lack dignity. Also, that her brother's teammates would _cheat_.

"Three fives," Niou declared, tossing the cards onto the pile. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms behind his head, daring anyone to challenge his claim.

"Aw, what the hell," Marui shrugged. "BS."

Niou smirked. "Pick 'em up, redheaded stepchild."

Marui made a face and slid the whole pile into his hand. "I asked for that."

"_Yeah _you did," Kirihara chimed in, slurping noisily at his soda. "Why would you ever try to call out Niou-senpai?"

"Niou _is _the king of bullshit," Sayoko's brother agreed, drumming his fingers on the table. Sayoko knew he was impatient for the match to begin.

"Hey," she cut in, "who wants to go get me a drink?"

Silence.

"You guys are the worst." She got up to buy one herself.

"Wait," said Marui suddenly, craning his head to see the concessions stand. "Actually, I'll come." He stood, tossing his cards back on the table. "I'm out, guys."

"Quitterrrrrr," Kirihara accused. "That's so lame, senpai."

"He sucked anyway." Niou flipped idly through his hand of cards.

Upon catching up with Sayoko, Marui wrapped his arm around her waist. She said flatly, "I am not okay with this."

"See the girl in line?" Marui murmured, his lips by her ear. "Not the one with the green streaks in her hair, the other one." Ordering at the concessions stand were two girls. The one Marui referred to wasn't striking, but she did have nice eyes, sweet and dark.

"We're making her jealous," Sayoko observed. "Classy." Still, when the girl noticed her and Marui approaching, she played her part by giggling flirtatiously.

"Do you have a better idea?"

"Take her to Azerbaijan," she suggested boredly. "That would impress her."

They were only about ten feet from the girls now, and Marui muttered, "Okay, now laugh like I just said something uproariously funny. You know, one of my usual witty comments."

Obediently, she laughed and slapped his arm lightly. The girl Marui was trying to impress shot her a sour look. They got in line, and Marui, pretending to have just noticed the girls, struck up a conversation that didn't hold Sayoko's interest at all. Once the girls got their orders and left, she declared, "For that, you are paying for my drink."

"Yeah, yeah. Anyway, thanks. She was definitely jealous." He sounded quite pleased with himself.

"Spectacular. Make sure my drink comes with a bendy-straw."

"Hey, so who do _you _like, anyway?" he wanted to know, sticking a straw in her cup and handing it to her. Instead of immediately returning to the rest of the team, they lingered by the concessions stand.

"You. I am madly in love with _you_, Marui-senpai." She really wished she had one of those straws that changed colors… like the kind you get in kids' cups at restaurants. If it changed from orange to purple, that would be cool.

"Well, naturally." He spared her a mildly gratified look, and said, "But you know, I always figured you and Akaya would get together." At her are-you-on-crack expression, he explained, "Just, you know, 'cause you guys are in the same class and all." She continued to stare at him, and he went on defensively, "Sorry I didn't put too much thought into your romantic life, okay? Jeez."

Sayoko just shook her head. Dating Kirihara… that would be so _weird_. She'd never felt close to the kid, and at times had deeply resented him for getting so much of her brother's attention. She'd really… envied him. For being able to connect with her brother that much.

Often she felt like she should have kept playing tennis, if only to maintain that link with her brother. Even if they couldn't discuss their feelings, if they could just debate the pros and cons of a slice-backhand, they could pretend that their relationship was healthy. That they weren't drifting further and further apart.

In her mind, she was again reaching reaching reaching, and her brother, eternally, pulled farther and farther away.

"And anyway," Marui continued, oblivious to her sudden distress, "isn't he unusually interested in that Tachibana girl?"

"Is he?" Sayoko shrugged. If he was, she hadn't noticed—though anyone could tell that the girl herself wasn't too keen on the green-eyed ace.

"I think so," Marui replied casually. "Shouldn't you know? You are in their class, after all." Then he grinned, pulling on a lock of her hair. "Although I suppose I should take into account how self-absorbed you are."

Sayoko, lost in thought, didn't bother to respond, and the redhead just cast his eyes skyward, point proven.

~x~

Someone poked An's shoulder, and she moaned. It was Monday morning, and she was passed out at her desk. She was so _tired_, from all the physical (tennis, running, working out) and mental (tests, homework, figuring out how exactly her life had turned out this way) exertion.

"I think she's dead," commented Hiyono from somewhere to An's left. "Should we say a few words?"

Kaji Rui cleared his throat. "Here lies recently departed, and dearly missed, Tachibana An. We didn't get to know her long—she was a transfer student from a magical place called Tokyo—but we'll remember her forever. Or at least until we get a new, more exciting transfer student."

"Maybe someone from Canada," threw in Kiko. "That would be cool. And Canadian. But mostly cool. She could take us back to her homeland for the annual Running of the Moose."

"That's Spain, honey, and it's with bulls, not moose."

Kiko's tone was smug. "That's just what they want you to think."

"They're a wily bunch, those Canadians," An mumbled without lifting her head up off her arms. "Now if you guys could maybe let me rest in peace…?" But at that moment, the teacher walked in, and class began. Sighing, the chestnut-haired girl pulled herself into an upright position. She really needed to acquire a taste for coffee.

Or at least learn how to sleep with her eyes open. There was probably an app for that.

At the beginning of class, the teacher declared that she had an announcement to make. _Please let it be the instatement of naptime, _An begged internally. _Come on, naptime, naptime, fingers crossed for naptime…_

"You'll be beginning projects to be worked on outside of class."

_Dear Powers That Be, no disrespect, but seriously. What the hell.  
_

"Naohito, if you'd come up to the board?" The class officer rose obediently. "When I call a student's name, write down who they report their partner to be."

The fifth name called was Sayoko's, and the blue-eyed girl breezily declared An to be her partner. Hiyono glanced at her friend, but the young tennis player shrugged. She could have been worse off, though making the other girl pull her own weight might take a little doing.

During lunch that day, An was wandering through the halls when a third-year called to her. "Hey, help me with this?" He was carrying a stack of physics books. Like a good little kouhai, she took half of them, following him to a supply closet. He stopped to adjust his grip on the texts, so she opened the door, stepping forward to reach for the light-switch.

She probably should have seen it coming.

Fruit punch rained down on her, getting on the tiles as well, and she slipped, crashing to the floor and banging the back of her head against the doorframe. A hand grabbed her by the hair, yanking her face up close so the upperclassman could whisper in her ear, "You better pick your friends more carefully, little girl."

And then he walked away.

Her head _throbbing_, An tried in vain to wipe the sticky liquid out of her eyes. It hadn't been the most original of pranks, but—but _damn_, was it effective. Her blazer and skirt might be saved, but her white blouse was, without a doubt, ruined. She just sat there for a few moments, blinking back tears of rage and pain.

_I will not cry over this, _she swore to herself. _Goddamn it all, these stupid assholes aren't worth my tears. _And then: _I hate this place. I don't belong here. This wouldn't be happening to me, anywhere else. Why the hell would I—_

She heard a soft intake of breath, and looked up. The supply closet was in a pretty secluded hallway, but a girl stood about ten feet away, gaping at her. She was small and round-faced, no doubt a first-year, and kind of reminded An of the Seigaku girl, Ryuuzaki.

She sat up a little straighter. _Get it together, Tachibana, come on, come on, get it together. If you're going to be a baby and cry about this, at least do it when there's no one around. Get your game face on._"Oh hey," she heard herself say nonchalantly. "'Sup."

"Um…" the girl stammered. "I—are you…?"

"I'm fine," said the older girl, smiling so hard her teeth hurt. "Absolutely spiffy." She inspected a soaked strand of hair. "Red's a good color for me, don't you think? Yeah… but yeah, things are going great. How's your day been so far?"

The girl cast her an unsure look, then turned and fled. An decided not to take it too personally. Just when the pain in her head had subsided just enough for her to consider standing up without puking, none other than Kirihara strolled over.

She slumped down further. _Worst. Day. Ever._

"So I'm coming down from the roof, right," he began, walking up to kneel by her side. He didn't touch her, just inspected her with those green eyes of his. They glowed like searchlights. "And this tiny first-year comes up and starts stammering about a girl in a supply closet, drenched in fruit punch and blabbering like a loon."

He smiled slightly. "How'd I know it would be you?" When she just rolled her eyes, he went on, "Well, aren't you going to break down? Tell the principal? Run home and cry to your mom?"

"I'm going," she told him, very calmly, "to go clean myself up."

Kirihara tilted his head, and he got that look again, the one that expressed how profoundly baffled by her he was, that communicated his deep frustration at the disparity between how she acted and how he expected her to act. He looked like he would cut her just to see if she'd bleed, or crush her windpipe to determine exactly how much air she needed to breathe.

But then his features settled, and his shoulders relaxed, and his eyes grew just a bit softer. "Okay," he said, and for some reason it sounded like a secret, or maybe even a promise. "Okay." He held out a hand to her, and more out of habit than anything, she disregarded it, getting to her feet by herself.

He just shook his head, and walked her to the nearest girls' bathroom. Wordlessly, she went inside, kicking off her squelchy shoes and peeling off her sticky socks, before shrugging out of her blazer and tossing aside her tie. Her blouse went directly into the trash can. Standing there in her skirt and a camisole, she'd almost finished rinsing off her face and arms when Sayoko entered, setting down a neatly folded uniform on the counter.

Kirihara must have gone for her.

At An's raised eyebrows, the mahogany-haired girl lifted a shoulder in an elegant shrug. "Bullied some girl into lending me her spare."

An turned off the faucet. "I don't need your help."

Sayoko got more paper towels, wet them, and went about cleaning the shorter girl's hair. "I know."

The chestnut-haired girl mulled this over for a long time, before: "Okay," she said, finding the word came out in the same soft tone Kirihara had used. "All right."

Once she'd gotten as clean as she was going to get, she started changing into the new uniform while Sayoko went to fetch a hairbrush from her locker. An finished before she got back, and, her soiled uniform in her hands, exited the bathroom, figuring she could brush her hair back in the classroom.

She walked with her head down, and bumped into one of three upperclassman girls. _For real? Gonna say it again: Worst. Day. Ever. _"Excuse me, senpai," she mumbled. "I'm sorry."

"_Are _you?" she inquired, sharing a look with her friends. They snickered quietly.

"What's that supposed to mean?" An demanded. Respect to one's seniors be damned, she was not in the mood for this.

"Just that you're that one transfer student, right?" She smirked. "We've all heard about you… you've gotten kind of infamous, you know that? Pretentious, disrespectful… and butting into other people's business all too frequently." Her smile was malice-sweet. "No offense."

An stared at her. At her old schools, if there were girls that didn't like her, they were too intimidated to say anything. Most of the confrontations she'd had had been with boys. How should she respond…? God, she just couldn't _deal _with this right now.

But if there was one person put on the earth for the sole purpose of being catty, it was Yukimura Sayoko. Hairbrush in hand, the girl sauntered up to assess the three girls with a smile so cold it_burned_, like holding an icicle in your bare hands.

The third-year girls exchanged a glance. Picking on the upstart transfer girl was one thing. Getting into a fight with Yukimura Seiichi's sister was another.

"What are you three doing hanging around here?" she wanted to know. "The pickings are slim on all accounts—no boys to throw away your self-esteem for, and only a few girls to bully into having even less self-esteem than you do."

"Says the girl who was all over Tsujiai in the computer lab," sneered another girl.

The blue-eyed girl's tone of voice was scathingly friendly. "You heard about that? Yes, I expect you must have—you don't have lives, so you talk about other people's. Here, I'll tell you something about mine: dealing with nasty sluts runs in my family. My brother? He turns them down on a daily basis." She lifted her chin at the girl farthest to the left. "_You _know that personally." The girl flushed.

"And me?" Sayoko continued. Her eyes flashed cruelly. "I just ruin—"

"Hate to break up the party," drawled a familiar voice, and Niou ambled up to use Sayoko's head as an armrest. "But your brother's looking for you, sweetheart. Should I tell him you're making new friends?" Not once did those narrow pale eyes turn toward the girls in his own year, but they got the message, and slunk away.

"Niou-senpai," said Sayoko sulkily, and then— "Wait." An, fed up with the lot of them, had begun to walk away. The mahogany-haired girl tossed her the brush.

"Thanks," sighed An. For better or worse, they were allies. But why did all the people that seemed to want to help her only make her life more difficult?

_I should just drop out of school and become a street-performer._

~x~

"What's the difference between her and me?" Sayoko asked quietly, watching the other girl's retreating back. Niou just laughed a little and stepped away, letting his arm fall to his side. With a tilt of his chin, he indicated that they should leave. "I'm serious," she persisted. "Why—"

_Why is that girl, that one, damned girl, everything I should be? Everything I'm supposed to be?_

"Sweetie," the silver-haired boy began patronizingly—only to meet her eyes, and sigh. He bent down until they were face to face. "She's strong, and you're weak," he said simply.

She stared at him. "That's not…! I…"

"See." His tone was gentle, amused. "I tell you the truth, something, deep down, you already know, even—and you get hurt. You put on a good show, Sayoko, but when push comes to shove…" He shrugged. "Knock that girl down? She'll get back up."

He shoved her ever so lightly. "Knock you down?

"You cry and wait for someone to pick you up."

* * *

Wazzuppppp.

Disclaimer: I do not own _Prince of Tennis_, nor do I own Falling Up's "Fearless" (lyrics at the top).


	10. This is How a Heart Breaks

**250 Dark Stars**

_(And I want to get free_

_Talk to me_

_I can feel you falling)_

…

"Everyone, if you would listen for a moment," Naohito requested on Tuesday morning. Even with the respect demanded of the class representative, it took a while for the students to settle down—she wasn't an authoritative girl. Instead, she trained her eyes on her feet, shuffling.

Sayoko bit idly at a fingernail. Naohito was probably going to announce something about the upcoming school fair. She hated school fairs… they were just the school board's way of showing off by trotting the students around like show ponies.

If she were a My Little Pony dolls, she would be white with a purple mane and tail, and have the image of a blender on her flank. Just 'cause. On Marui's flank would be bubblegum, and on her brother's, a tennis racquet.

Or maybe a bicycle, just to mix things up.

"I've decided to resign as class officer. I'm sorry to have let you all down. Please forgive me." Naohito drew a breath and said, as if reciting a memorized passage from the student handbook, "As my last duty, I'd like to officially nominate Yukimura Sayoko to take my place."

Sayoko's thoughts on the matter were: _Wait, what? Shit. _

Everyone looked at her, and she dropped the hand she'd been gnawing on, covertly spitting out a tiny piece of fingernail. Coolly, she lifted an eyebrow, as if none of it even warranted a reaction. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tsujiai and his crew smirking, while on the other side of the room, Kirihara was clearly laughing at her situation.

"Does anyone object?" Naohito went on. No one did—Sayoko suspected Tsujiai and co. figured they could torture her when she had to go up in front of the class and do class officer duties. Still, she pleaded mentally for someone, anyone, to nominate someone else. If she did, it would look like she was intimidated, but…

_Save me, _she mouthed to Kirihara. She would have looked to Tachibana for help as well, but the other girl sat a few seats behind her, and turning completely around would not have been stealthy.

He just put his hands behind his head, looking supremely pleased with life in general, and suddenly she felt sick to her stomach.

Yukimura Sayoko: Had officially been thrown to the wolves.

And she knew who to blame.

~x~

"Where is he?" was the question that began her interrogation of Sanada and Yanagi during the break. Her brother wasn't in his classroom. At her strident tone, a few people shot her curious looks, but the two-thirds of the Troika that weren't related to her didn't seem fazed in the least.

Disheveled and out of breath from sprinting up the stairs—_Note to self: Improve stamina in case ever chased by a bear_—she narrowed her eyes at them. Without giving them a chance to respond, she went on, "Did you guys know about this?"

They exchanged a glance, which was impressive, given the all-but-closed state of Yanagi's eyes. Sanada opened his mouth, but Sayoko, getting more and more worked up, didn't give him a chance. "Who am I kidding, of course you did. I can't _believe _he had the nerve to—"

"Who had the nerve to do what?"

She spun on her heel to find her brother standing behind her, his eyebrows raised fractionally. Through clenched teeth, she said, "Can I talk to you outside."

He inclined his head by means of complying, and the siblings found a somewhat deserted stretch of hallway. Her brother leaned against the wall, arms folded over his chest, and prompted her to speak with a look.

"Why would you do that?" Normally she wasn't a pacer, but her frustration and incredulity found some release in the short, abrupt steps she took back and forth. "Why would you bully my class representative into resigning and leaving me her post? Of all the self-important, over-involved things you could have done…!"

"I didn't _bully _her into it," he said mildly, though his eyes flashed with annoyance. "I simply suggested it to her. You said you would take the position if it wasn't already filled. The structure, the responsibility… this is what you need, Sayoko."

"Don't tell me what I need! You have no _idea _what I need."

A thin, cool smile. "Really? And do _you _know what you need?"

"I need—I need…!" She threw her hands in the air. He made her so goddamned _angry_. "I need you to stop trying to run my life. Stop treating me like a child."

He unhitched himself from the wall, getting right up in front of her. She stopped pacing. Instead, she trembled, sick with the recognition that arguing with him never worked, only made her feel small and stupid and worthless.

"So stop acting like a child," he hissed, their identical blue eyes mere inches apart. "Grow up. Instead of drifting around feeling superior, take your schoolwork seriously, and maybe even give people a reason to give a damn about you. Because if I stop 'trying to run your life'? If I leave you alone?

"That's what you'll be, Sayoko. All alone. And you won't last a minute."

She choked, tears welling up in her eyes. "I… you…!"

He just shook his head, exhaled shortly, and started back toward his classroom. She watched him go, her hands balled up into fists, and finally shouted after him, "Yeah, well, I'm quitting the horticulture club!"

He whirled, having, by that point, completely lost his cool. "Fine!"

"_Fine!_" Her head down, she turned and fled in the opposite direction, trying to ignore all the stares and comments that the latest episode of the Yukimura family drama had garnered. Near the stairs, someone stepped in her path and took her by the wrists. Anticipating another cruel prankand she tried to jerk away.

But it was Niou. Impassively, he examined her. She'd begun crying in earnest now, the tears streaming hot and salty down her face, which she knew was already beginning to redden and swell. She'd always been an ugly, messy crier.

Unfortunate that she ended up like that so often.

Sayoko just looked at him, biting her lip. The silver-haired boy smiled then, not unkindly, but still mocking in the I-told-you-so nature of the expression, and she recalled his words from the day before: _You're weak. Knock you down? You cry and wait for someone to pick you up._

She tore free of his grip. _I may already be crying, _she thought grimly, _but I won't have you pick me up. Not this time._

He was the second person she ran away from, in no more than a minute.

~x~

Sayoko entered the classroom ten minutes after the next class had already begun, her face red and raw as if she'd scrubbed at it. Quietly accepting the teacher's punishment and sharp comment about the behavior expected of the new class officer, she took her seat, head tilted so that her hair veiled her face.

An, for her part, was trying to complete the English assignment that was due later that day. Their task was to write a story using certain words they'd just learned. Hers was about a chair that landed the lead in a Broadway musical, but was sent to prison for eating its co-star's brain.

She thought it rather inspired.

Still, it was hard to concentrate with all the noise—construction people were working on the roof. She hoped they were installing a helipad. Or perhaps an aquarium.

She was almost done drawing herself with gills when class ended and a new break began. The students got up to stretch their legs and talk amongst themselves. An stayed in her seat, putting the finishing touches on—

"Fish-girl, huh?"

She jumped. "Marui-senpai!" The redheaded third-year stood behind her, peering over her shoulder with those intelligent violet eyes. "What are you…?"

"Yukimura sent me to check on Sayoko-chan, but…" he shrugged, and gestured vaguely to the room at large. The blue-eyed girl was nowhere to be seen. "So I figured you could be Sayoko-chan 2.0." He thought about it. "Sayoko-chan: The Sequel, perhaps."

_Thanks for that. _"Then you can be Marui-senpai: He Who May or May Not Get Put on The List."

"The List?" He put his hands on the desk behind hers, leaning back to study her with amusement.

"Of people and things that bug me," she clarified, twirling a pen in her hands for cool-effect. When her fingers slipped and the utensil clattered to the floor, she pretended it hadn't happened. "So far on The List I have people that don't like Slip'n'Slides, and then cheap Slip'n'Slides that tear easily and send you sliding into your neighbor's rosebush."

… Not that that had ever happened to her

He brightened. "I _love _Slip'n'Slides. Dude, we are totes having a Slip'n'Slide party sometime. Gimme some." He raised his hand, and they bumped fists. "Anyway," he went on, "can you make sure Sayoko-chan's okay?"

An shrugged. "Her brother… he's the one that got Naohito-san to nominate Sayoko as class representative, isn't he?" If there was one thing to be said for Yukimura Seiichi, it was that he had pull.

"Yeah… and I hear she's not very happy about it." He appeared uncharacteristically troubled for a moment, and it occurred to her that he must, on some level, legitimately care for the mahogany-haired girl. Just from being around her so often? She knew from experience that the heart grew fond of people who maintained a constant presence in one's life…

"But anyway," he continued, once again the epitome of nonchalance, "just check on her, yeah? Would mean a lot to her brother."

She glanced at the clock. "You should head back before you're late…"

Marui's wry grin let her know that he'd noticed her half-hearted evasion. He stood up, giving her a friendly shoulder-check as he passed. "Be seeing you, Tachibana-kun." Kirihara entered the classroom just in time to see his teammate leave, and treated An to a look that was equally curious and suspicious.

Pulling out a box of crayons, she went back to her picture.

~x~

When the school day ended, An couldn't have been more relieved. Her exhaustion was catching up with her—she'd gotten a singularly unimpressive grade on the History quiz she'd taken the day before.

That her picture had turned out fantastically _almost _made it better. Almost.

As the final bell rang, she hurried to catch up with Sayoko, who had already begun to book it out of the classroom. "Sayoko," she called, feeling uncomfortable with the given-name-basis. "Sayoko, wait up."

Most people, when called by name, would turn around and come to a stop. The blue-eyed girl glanced over her shoulder and slowed, but did not break stride. She was just that kind of person, and An decided not to take it personally.

Dodging other students—the hallways after school ended always made her think of that scene from _The Lion King_, the one where the herd of wildebeests stampeded in the gorge—she fell into step beside the other girl. "Hey. Are you… how are you?"

Sayoko did not visibly stiffen, but she definitely gave off that vibe. "I'm fine," was her immediate, clipped response. "Thanks for asking."

It was in An's nature to demand the honest truth, but she had a feeling that pursuing that course with Sayoko would only earn her a freezing look and a sharp remark, so she quelled the instinct. Still, the other girl was distressed. It wouldn't have been obvious to her a month or so ago, when the youngest Yukimura sibling had just been a remote, picture-perfect figure, but now it was clear as day.

That didn't mean there was anything she could do, though.

"So for our project," she began as they turned a corner. "When do you want to work on it?"

Those bright blue eyes expressed bafflement. "What?"

"Our history project," An elucidated. "You know? We're partners? It's due in a few weeks…?" They really needed to do a good job on it so that she could bring her grade up…

"Oh," said Sayoko distantly. "Oh. Right. Um…" she trailed off, but someone appeared to pick up the conversational slack.

"Yo." Kirihara jogged up to salute An in a way that was both lighthearted and mocking, before turning to Sayoko. He snapped his fingers once in front of her face to get her attention. "Can you tell Yukimura-buchou that I might be late for practice today? I need to look for my phone. Left it somewhere."

"That's the second phone in six months, Akaya. Your parents must be thrilled."

An winced. _Ah, both Yukimura siblings are here… it's a party… _

Yukimura, with effortless grace, approached to stand opposite his sister. The tension was extreme; Sayoko wouldn't even look at her brother.

A pause.

"So yeah I'm gonna go try to find it," Kirihara blurted out, turning to beat a hasty retreat.

"I'll help you," Sayoko declared instantly, her long hair swishing as she whirled to follow him, effectively—if not subtly—making her escape.

"… Um," An said. Yukimura raised his eyebrows at her. "I'm gonna… bye." She ran to catch up with her classmates, and once they were out of earshot of the Child of God, who remained exactly where he was, she hissed, "So thanks for abandoning me. That was great. Really, that totally made my day."

"Kirihara Akaya: Day-Maker. Nice to meet you," the green-eyed ace said breezily. "I already checked the classroom… I think I might have forgotten my phone on the roof."

"They let you up there, even with the construction going on?" At his sly smile, An shook her head. "Ah. Not so much 'let you' as 'didn't notice you.'"

"In my book, the two phrases are synonymous," he grinned. He opened the door to the staircase that led to the rooftop, and they went up single-file—Kirihara, Sayoko, An. "And anyway, I live by my own rules."

"'The first rule about Fight Club is you don't talk about Fight Club,'" she quoted, smiling faintly.

He paused, and Sayoko bumped into his back with a soft sound of annoyance. "You've read that book?" His expression was animated, engaged, and for a moment the extraordinary focus that won him so many tennis matches was directed solely toward An.

She swallowed.

Then, raising her eyebrows, she said wryly, "'The second rule about Fight Club is you don't talk about Fight Club.'"

"Yeah, yeah, okay," he laughed, and they continued on up.

An blew her hair out of her eyes. "So Sayoko, really—when are we going to work on our project? I need to know so I can go to practice…"

They stepped out onto the roof. The construction equipment was there, but the workers must have been on break. Kirihara started looking for his phone, and Sayoko chewed absently at the nails of her left hand. "Well… I guess we can work on it this weekend or something. Maybe Friday night."

Working on a history project on a Friday night… such was the wild, crazy social life of the typical Japanese high school student.

She was about to head back down when she stopped and asked, "Hey, so what are they building up here, anyway?" In some places, the fence that bordered the roof was stripped away.

"I think a new overhang…" Kirihara mumbled, reaching up and mussing his own hair in thought. "Where could I have left…?"

An overhang? That was it? No aquarium? "But the dolphins," she protested, setting her stuff down and walking out to get a better view. "I love dolphins."

"What are you talking about?" Kirihara and Sayoko asked in unison, whereupon they scowled at each other.

She waved the question away, wandering around the rooftop. It would have been a great spot for an aquarium… they could have put the sharks over there, and the dolphins here, and the mermaids… they could go…

She faltered, having, in her self-absorbed wandering, gotten way too close to one of the edges of the rooftop where the protective fencing had been stripped away. Cold sweat ran down her neck as her heart hammered in her chest, and she hurriedly backed away—

Only to move right into another unprotected section.

Stepping backwards, her feet, suddenly, did not have solid ground beneath them, and she fell right off the roof, managing to hang on to the fence where it started again. There was a narrow narrow narrow ledge that she could touch her toes to, but oh God oh God oh _God_—

"You stupid _idiot_!" Kirihara rushed over to kneel on the edge of the roof. He thrust a hand out to her. "Take my hand, come on, come on, take my hand."

"No!" she cried, holding on for dear life, her eyes squeezed shut with absolute terror. "I'm not letting go!" Oh God she was hanging off the roof of a three-story building she was going to fall would a fall from this height kill her what would she land on she couldn't see oh God she was so scared so scared _so goddamned scared_—

"I'll pull you _up_," he hissed, his voice stricken. "_Seriously_, Tachibana, this isn't funny. Come _on_. Just take my hand!"

"No," she whimpered, her grip growing weaker and weaker. She could support some of her weight on the narrow ledge beneath her, but not all. Not enough to make her safe. "I won't let go. I can't let go…!" Tears coursed down her cheeks. No way in _hell _was she letting go of the fence.

"Goddamn you," he snarled, and grabbed her forearms, only to release her when she let out an ear-piercing shriek.

"_Don't touch me!_"

"Then _take _my goddamned hand, you stupid stupid _stupid_—"

"An," said a voice, urgent and unassailable. She heard someone run up and get down on their knees next to Kirihara. "Tachibana An, open your eyes, look at me, come on, _do _it."

She opened her eyes to find Yukimura Seiichi staring at her intently, his eyes like bolts of lightning. He held out a hand to her. "Take my hand, and I'll pull you up."

"No!"

"_Take _my hand," he ordered, those eyes blazing blazing blazing blue. "I don't give a damn whether you want to or not, just _do _it because I told you to."

Call it hypnotized, spellbound, transfixed, whatever—she couldn't block out those angel-blue eyes. She couldn't disregard that voice, so expectant and certain and doubtless, so completely and totally what she needed to hear.

She took his hand.

Yukimura pulled her up and to him, and she clung to him, let him back her up from the ledge, buried her face in his blazer and cried and cried and cried, sick with fear and horror and she could have fallen she could have died oh God oh God she wanted her brother oh God where was her brother—

"Shh," he murmured, his arms wrapped around her loosely. "It's all right. You're all right."

She let him keep telling her that, and after a while she let herself believe him.

~x~

"Tachibana, are you okay?" Shimizu had her hands on her hips. It was near the end of practice that day, and An was hitting against a ball-machine.

The chestnut-haired girl shrugged, and slugged another forehand down the line. It felt good, to work off the remaining anxiety… it seemed as if her intestines were tied in a knot—or perhaps a balloon-animal. Maybe a dolphin, wouldn't that just be—

"Ta-chi-ba-_na_," the vice-captain sang. "Listen when I'm talking to you, or I will turn this car around, missy. Don't think I won't." She turned the ball-machine off. "You can play with your toy later. Now seriously, what's going on in that head of yours?"

"Balloon-animals," An answered honestly, approaching to lean her racquet against the net. She sat down right where she was, the court rough and familiar against her skin.

Shimizu, to her credit, took that in stride. "Fair enough. Balloon-animals shouldn't be troubling you this much, though." She sat down on the other side of the net, and they regarded each other through the meshing. "I know you've been having a hard time with… things," she began, and it occurred to An that, however outgoing the girl with the green-gray eyes might have been, she wasn't particularly comfortable with heart-to-hearts.

"I'm fine," she said automatically, and it made her think of only a few hours previous, when she'd asked Sayoko how she was. The moment An had fallen off the edge of the roof, Sayoko had raced to get her brother who was—_thank God—_still in the building.

Needless to say, all students were now banned from the roof until construction was finished.

_You guys couldn't have decided that sooner, huh._

"Do you want me to talk to Yukimura, or Sanada?" Shimizu took her hair out of her ponytail, shook it out, and began braiding it in a zillion little braids. "They're already working on beating down all the stupid soccer team people, but they could, I don't know. Get you a bodyguard, or a clown."

At An's raised eyebrows, the blond explained, "To make you balloon-animals. Also, a lot of people are afraid of clowns. Bet you at least half the soccer team is."

"I'm really fine," An smiled. Shimizu didn't know about her near-death experience, and she wasn't about to tell the older girl. The less people who knew, the slightly less humiliating it was. _Slightly._

"All right," Shimizu shrugged, her eyes on what she was doing with her hair. "I guess I'm just saying—it's okay to accept other people's help, sometimes. It's Yukimura and company's fault that you're like, public enemy number one—actually, probably public enemy number two. That Yukimura Sayoko's probably number one.

"Anyway, I'm sure he could help. Maybe get you moved up a grade and into his class. Him, Sanada, and Yanagi all together… no one would bother you when they're all around."

An wouldn't put that kind of influence past the older boy, but—thinking about Yukimura made her feel… funny. She switched conversation topics. "Have you and Fuyumi-buchou figured out the lineup for Sunday?"

Shimizu grinned. "It's against our policy to leak that kind of information this early, but if it'll give you the motivation to focus… you'll be playing Singles 3. So you better get your act together, yeah?"

"I will," the chestnut-haired girl promised, all but beaming. Finally, she would get to play some real tennis… she'd probably do so well they would move her up to Singles 2, and then Singles 1, and then everyone would just declare that she was to greatest tennis player ever.

And then they would buy her a boat.

Shimizu stood and brushed herself off. She'd only finished braiding half of her hair, so the end-result looked ridiculous, which, knowing her, was probably what she'd been going for. "Anyway, practice is over." She started to walk toward the door in the fence surrounding the court.

Over her shoulder, she called, "Don't tell anyone I told you what position you're playing, 'kaykay? Then _everyone_ would want to know, and I'd have to tell them no, and then there would be a _mutiny_, and they'd leave me stranded on a deserted island. Coconuts taste gross," she added, her upper lip curled with disgust.

An took her word for it.

~x~

Hiyono didn't have practice that day, so An began the walk home by herself. Somehow she wasn't surprised when Kirihara stopped her by the school gate.

He was leaning against the wall that circled the school, and as she approached he turned to face her, his hands in his pockets. His bag was slung over one shoulder and his hair fell in his eyes, and he just looked at her, unsmiling.

"Nice weather," she commented offhand, unable to meet his eyes.

"Why wouldn't you take my hand?" he demanded.

She bit the inside of her cheek. "Look, I don't—"

"Seriously, Tachibana, what is your _problem _with me?" He sounded so angry she half-expected his eyes to turn red, but they remained, as ever, relentlessly, unfathomably green.

She stared at him. "What's my problem with you? How can you even _ask _that! I mean, God, you are just so…!" She trailed off, unable to describe him.

He sneered at her. "So _what_?"

She found the words, advancing on him as she ranted. The stress of the day found an outlet through her accusations. "So conceited, and mean! You're a _jerk_ that treats people like crap. You don't care about _anyone _but yourself, and you do whatever the hell you want whenever you want because you think you're better than everyone else!"

They were about two feet away from each other now, and Kirihara smirked down at her. "Your point being?"

She slapped him across the face.

—And he slapped her right back.

It was a light smack, but—he'd _hit _her. She gaped at him, one hand coming up to cup her cheek. "If you can hit me, I can hit you," he explained casually. "If you don't hit me, I won't hit you. Cool? Cool. So anyway," he went on, as if the exchange of blows had never even occurred, "who _are _you?

"Who do you think you are, to run around accusing me of all this crap? Newsflash, kiddo: you don't even _know _me. If you want to insult people, go look in the mirror, and accuse the girl you see of being self-righteous and judgmental. Because guess what?

"It'll be dead-accurate."

He looked down at her, and for a moment she had no idea what was going on behind those greengreen eyes. But then… he seemed to see what he wanted to see. His face lit up like a match, his smile flashing and bright and… _happy_.

He walked away then, and she just… stood there.

She didn't know what else to do.

* * *

SO SHE ATE A PANCAKE.

Dedicated to **xxTemarixx **for predicting that Kirihara would hit An. XD She had it coming, and it's BS that girls can hit guys but guys

Disclaimer: I do not own _Prince of Tennis_, or The Goo Goo Dolls' "Here is Gone" (lyrics at the top). I also don't own Chuck Palahniuk's _Fight Club_, or Disney's _The Lion King_.


	11. You Can Never Wait for Luck

**250 Dark Stars**

_(You and I got something_

_But it's all and then_

_It's nothing to me)_

…

"I don't understand," Yukimura said, pacing the length of the clubhouse. Sanada sat on the couch, arms crossed over his chest and eyes trained out the window, on a match taking place between two promising second-years.

Yanagi was at the desk, handling the paperwork for an upcoming tennis clinic that the team would attend. It should have been Yukimura's job, but right then he was too aggravated to spare it more than a glance.

"Am I _really _that terrible of an older brother?" the captain wanted to know. If there was one person in the whole world that could make him lose his composure, it was his little sister.

"I don't know what to do with her anymore," he went on. His voice was low and practically flat, but people who knew him as well as Sanada and Yanagi did could easily pick up on the tension that kept his words taut as a bowstring. "She's so immature, and needy, and just—she can make me so _angry_."

The Child of God did not often get angry. Irritation, disapproval, strictness… these were familiar to him. But rarely, with him, did anger come into play.

Then again, that was what younger siblings were for.

"Hmm," was all Yanagi said. Sanada remained silent, clearly uncomfortable with the topic.

It was Wednesday, during morning practice, and Yukimura was not in a good mood. He'd gone out of his way to secure a position on the student council for Sayoko, and she'd blown up at him. Why couldn't she see that everything he did was in her best interest? Moreover, why did she create drama where none existed? Why couldn't she be more reasonable, and self-reliant?

Why couldn't she be more like Tachibana An?

He thought of the girl with the blue-gray eyes. She was a talented tennis player, she was sociable… and she just—stood out. Not the way his sister did, with her striking good looks and elevated demeanor. The chestnut-haired girl's shine was understated, but… steady. Steady like a heartbeat.

If there was one thing in the world that Sayoko needed, it was steadiness. Stability. She didn't have any inner strength to draw on. When something didn't go her way, she didn't fall to pieces—she _shattered_.

And soon enough, he wouldn't be there to put her back together.

It was why he was doing his best to forge a bond between the two girls. An was someone he believed he would come to think very highly of. She was kind, strong… someone Sayoko could lean on. An was a tree, deeply rooted, and Sayoko was a delicate vine that clung to her.

Whether or not she was the type of vine that squeezed the life out of that which supported her was debatable.

But even once he did get the Tachibana girl to look out for his sister… Sayoko wouldn't be _completely _taken care of. She would always need him.

He'd truly believed that for a long time, anyway.

For years after Sayoko was born, she wouldn't speak a word. She would watch the world with bright, intelligent eyes, clearly taking everything in, but never offering anything in return. Countless times, their parents had had her examined, but the experts all agreed there was nothing wrong with her, that she would speak when she decided to.

He would spend every day with his sister, teaching her all the words he knew, saying them over and over and over over over for her. _Apple. Mother. Chair. Smile._

One day when she was four, she had climbed onto his bed and sat before him. She'd looked up at him very solemnly, those eyes huge and blue and lovely, and so very haltingly, carefully, warmly, she'd said—

"Oniisan."

Her first word.

Yukimura doubted that she remembered.

In so many ways, he had been the one who raised her. Their parents had been around, had been active and supportive, but it was always him that Sayoko went to when she had a problem, always him that she asked for advice.

As such, the extent to which Sayoko was so profoundly flawed… it was a product of his own failure.

How had he let her become so haughty, so _frangible_?

They'd always been as close as two siblings so near in age could be. They'd played together, and taken tennis lessons together, and conspired against their innumerous babysitters together. Sayoko had _adored _him. He'd felt like the best brother in the world.

And then he'd gotten sick.

When he'd woken up in the hospital, it was agreed that Sayoko should go in to see him first. He'd expected her to cry, and hug him, and have him assure that he would be fine, everything would be fine, he'd be back to look after her in no time, don't cry, Sayoko, it's okay, it's okay, don't cry.

Instead, she took one step inside the room and just stared at him, her eyes accusing and reproachful and _betrayed_, somehow, and she—

She left. It was the only time she'd ever visited him.

And damn, if that didn't hurt.

By getting hospitalized, by not being there to take care of her… he had let her down, and she hadn't ever forgiven him. But—

"She still needs me," he said aloud, turning to look Sanada straight in the eye, as if the hazel-eyed youth had said something to the contrary. After a moment, he turned and fixed Yanagi with the same look. "She does."

Yanagi opened his eyes fully to exchange a meaningful glance with Sanada, and surprisingly, it was the latter who spoke.

"She does need you," the capped boy said carefully, every word slow and deliberate. "But more importantly… I think you want her to need you."

He adjusted the brim of his hat, his eyes sharp and focused like they were right before he sliced through a straw-dummy with his katana. The killing blow was this: "Maybe even, on some level… you _need_ her to need you."

Yukimura didn't say anything after that.

~x~

"Damn it," An muttered. "_Damn _it. I hate you. I hate you _so _much." She was, of course, talking to her blouse, which she couldn't manage to button correctly. She was putting on her uniform after the morning weight-room session. "I _hate _you, hate hate hate _hate_—"

"Day off to a bad start already, huh?" Shimizu broke in cheerfully, already dressed. For someone as eccentric as she was, her tie was awfully straight and proper. "That's a bummer." On her way out of the clubhouse, she ruffled the younger girl's hair. "Hang in there, little one! Just keep swimming, just keep swimming, just keep swimming swimming swimming…"

An hoped she would get eaten by a shark.

She lay down on one of the benches, throwing an arm over her eyes. She was so tired, and stressed, and just… lost. Less than twenty-four hours ago, she'd almost died—or at least been seriously injured. When it came down to it…

She owed her life to the Child of God.

Yukimura Seiichi led the most ruthless tennis team in Japan, and was probably the most cold-blooded player on it—he'd given countless people the yips, ruining their careers. He was demanding, and manipulative, and merciless.

But he'd held her in his arms so gently…

An groaned. Sure, she would agree that the guy was gorgeous and cultivated and charming, but _nice_? A savior? How could that be possible? How could someone be so completely different on and off the court?

Speaking of which.

She reached up to touch her cheek. Kirihara Akaya… she couldn't reconcile the guy she'd built him up to be with the boy she'd interacted with. Well, she _could_—she'd seen flashes of his mean streak, of his arrogance. She'd encountered his brass nerve, his mocking sense of humor…

As well as his infectious grin and unaffected friendliness. And there was just something else about him, something raw and bright and—and _innocent_. Something that she identified with on a base level.

How could she feel a connection with someone like him?

_Someone like him. _She bit her lip. He'd been right to call her self-righteous and judgmental, had even been right to hit her. It was only fair that he could hit her if she could hit him, and it wasn't like he'd _hurt _her.

But he _had _hurt her brother, and how could she not judge him for that?

Then again… her brother had hurt people, too. He'd hurt his best friend, had almost destroyed his future in tennis. And Chitose had forgiven him—the two were closer than ever.

A notion that didn't help her any.

Through clenched teeth, An let loose a scream of frustration—and fell off the bench.

_Eff my life._

~x~

That day after school, Sayoko stood in front of the student council room, her heart in her throat and her palms sweating. People passed her to go inside, peering at her curiously, but the cold blaze of her eyes discouraged any questions or murmured comments.

_It's okay. It's okay. I can do this. So what if these people are either expecting a) the nasty slut they've heard rumors about, or b) someone as perfect as Yukimura Seiichi. So the hell what, I'm still a rockstar._

… She'd been listening to her iPod to get motivated. English lyrics were much more can-do than Japanese.

"I know you're new to the student council, Sayoko-chan, but we don't typically convene in doorways. You may need to step inside."

_Yagyuu-senpai, _she thought with some relief, and turned to greet the student body president—only to find a faker in a clever disguise.

"What are you _doing_?" she hissed at Niou-pretending-to-be-Yagyuu.

The boy frowned in mild consternation. "I'm about to begin the meeting, of course."

Sayoko refrained from rolling her eyes. "Don't treat me like I'm stupid. I _know _it's you, Niou-senpai. I can tell." Niou just had—a vibe. That, and she would recognize those eyes anywhere, even behind glasses. Those eyes that were sharp and winter-cold, that saw far too much (her secrets and fears and weaknesses) and revealed far too little (who are you who are you who _are _you?).

At the moment, those eyes were a little wider than usual, and Niou's lips were slightly parted with what she suspected to be surprise. He cocked his head, and examined her the way a scientist would a bug in a Petri dish.

Such a look from her brother would have made her cringe and lash out defensively, but she didn't have anything to prove to Niou. He already thought poorly of her, and had no reason to change his opinion. Their relationship was set in stone, which made her feel… comfortable with him, in a way. Like she didn't have to worry, or put on a show.

So she met his eyes evenly, and he opened his mouth to speak—

Only to settle his expression when Jackal jogged up, giving him a friendly clap on the shoulder. "Hey, Yagyuu, Tateishi-san is in student council with you, right? Can you give her this for me?" He held up a binder. "I borrowed her Physics notes."

"I'd be happy to," Niou/Yagyuu said, accepting the item.

"Thanks," Jackal smiled, characteristically warm. He ruffled Sayoko's hair, earning him an indignant look. "Good luck today, Sayoko-chan."

"Yes, do try your best, Sayoko-chan," Niou said with Yagyuu's cultured, premeditated tones. When the half-Brazilian had turned a corner, Niou smirked at her, and said in his own voice: "Well? Go on." He inclined his head toward the door. "Show me whatcha got, sweetheart."

Sayoko treated him to a cool glance, but that only made his smirk grow more pronounced. She abandoned the expression, gripped her bag tightly so as not to chew her nails—

And walked inside, her head up and her hair tossed back, with what she knew to (appear to) be a confident smile curving her lips.

She deliberately made eye-contact with everyone that looked at her (a trick she'd learned from her brother), and was pleased to find that everyone else glanced away first. Satisfied that she'd made a strong impression, she sat down with the other second-year representatives.

First impressions were key. People rarely changed their opinions of others. If, from that little display of dominance, they'd pegged her as a self-assured, capable person, then that was how she would remain, in their minds. That was how she needed to remain.

Niou/Yagyuu took his seat at the end of the rectangle created by the desks, and quieted the chatter by clearing his throat. Then he started speaking, and Sayoko zoned out almost immediately, trying to figure out what exactly Niou was trying to accomplish.

Yagyuu had obviously given the other boy permission to impersonate him, and would not tolerate any stunts that would jeopardize the student council. So if he couldn't pull any pranks, why would the silver-haired boy go to all the trouble of the masquerade?

Was he there just to psych her out, to make her screw up?

She didn't think so. While Niou obviously found her childish and pathetic, she didn't feel like he actually harbored any ill-will towards her. In fact, he generally seemed to be quite amused by her and the spectacles she made of herself. He was probably just bored, and wanted to witness whatever newest humiliation came her way.

So he wasn't there to _cause _her to make a fool out of herself—just to _see _her make a fool out of herself. She supposed it could have been worse.

"… Yukimura-kun? Yukimura-kun, are you listening? Please offer your suggestion."

Everyone was staring at her. _Goddamn it goddamn it goddamn it damn it damn it. _She stood up, discreetly wiping her palms on her skirt. Making an educated guess, she said, "My suggestion—for the school fair." When the confirmation was met with only mildly impatient looks, not confused ones, she went on, "Right. Well…"

Somehow, she met Niou's eyes. He smiled faintly, and though his hands remained folded neatly before him on the desk, she imagined him lazily making a get-on-with-it gesture.

_Show me whatcha got, sweetheart._

She didn't have to prove anything to him, which took the pressure off her. But… she _wanted _to prove herself to him. _I'll show you. I won't let you look down on me anymore. No longer._

Looking directly at him, she said calmly, "I think the school fair should have a global theme. School fairs are meant to demonstrate that we're ready to become full-fledged citizens, aren't they? Right now, to be a good citizen, you have to be a citizen of the world.

"You have to understand the history and culture of others. You have to speak critical languages, and be able to live and work in foreign places. You have to communicate and cooperate with people that were raised with an entirely different viewpoint than yours.

"Embracing foreigners and their customs… it isn't something we're really known for, here in Japan. But if there was ever a time to be proactive, it's now. We need to be innovators instead of imitators. At this school fair of ours… we should show that we're a new generation, one that won't just interact with the world, but influence it."

She sat back down hastily, staring at her desk and trying to fight the heat rising in her cheeks. She hadn't meant to give them a whole spiel—it had all just slipped out, and she'd gotten so _cheesy _toward the end, and everyone probably thought it was the lamest, silliest, most boring—

"I believe Sayoko-chan's suggestion is worth investing further thought in, at least," Niou/Yagyuu said. "Do the rest of you feel the same way?" Opinions were shared, most of which, Sayoko was startled to find, were generally positive.

Wonders never ceased.

When the meeting adjourned, she remained sitting, her head propped up on her elbows. It had gone… better than she expected. Not _great_—that would have entailed everyone breaking into thunderous applause the moment she finished speaking. But… okay.

Niou, who stayed behind as well, voiced a similar thought. "So you actually did kind of not terrible. Weird, huh?" He dropped into the desk beside hers, removing his glasses and pulling off his wig.

She smiled at him thinly. "Sorry to disappoint you." He raised a slim pale eyebrow, and she elucidated, "You wanted to see me look stupid, right?" She shrugged. "Better luck next time."

Truth be told, if he hadn't been there… she didn't think it would have gone nearly as well. She'd just been so determined to finally do something right in his eyes that she'd tapped some inner reserve of composure, one she hadn't even known she had.

"That's why you think I came?" His eyes gleamed with a strange light, and either a sneer or a half-smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

Sayoko stared at him. Clearly she'd assumed incorrectly, because he was giving her a very familiar look, one that expressed how much it delighted him to see once again how weak/misled/pathetic/stupid she was. One that showed how very much in contempt he held her.

As if she didn't already feel enough contempt for herself.

Without another word, she stood and walked out of the room, not even bothering to glare at him.

~x~

An was waiting outside the school gate when Kirihara and a few of his friends were leaving the grounds. They were talking, and laughing, and shoving each other, and she almost turned and fled.

But this was something she had to do.

When they saw her, the noise and roughhousing died down, and she met Kirihara's eyes for a fragment of a moment before looking vaguely to the left of him. They all just stood there for a little while, and she feared that he would walk by without even acknowledging her. But then—

"Guys, I'll catch up with you later."

The other boys smirked, and nudged him, and made suggestive comments, but eventually drifted away. With all the lazy self-confidence in the world, he ambled up to stand a few feet in front of her, hipshot and expectant.

She took a breath, and looked at him, and said:

"Do you want to go play air-hockey?"

~x~

The arcade wasn't crowded, and they were able to snag an air-hockey table almost immediately. She won the first game, but went down in flames in the second and third. She was just—distracted, and pensive.

"You're not trying," he accused when he crushed her in the fourth game. The cacophony of video games and chatter pressed down on them.

"But I am," she said in a soft tone of voice that made it clear she wasn't talking about air-hockey. That gave him pause, his scowl all but vanishing.

He looked at her from across the air-hockey table, a look that was similar to ones he'd given her before—like, for the life of him, he couldn't begin to understand why she was the way she was. With previous looks, he'd expressed a brutal determination to figure her out at any cost, with her own feelings and well-being completely irrelevant.

Now he looked at her as if, more than anything, he wanted her to explain herself to him.

"Come on," he said, tossing the puck back onto the table with a clatter. He turned and walked right out of the arcade, and she had to hasten to keep up. He led her around corners, past stores, through intersections. A thought occurred to her:

_He's taking me to a deserted alley where he can mug me. Hah, well all I have on me is school stuff, lime-flavored chapstick, and a tampon. So it's _his _loss._

Yet he ended up bringing her to a street tennis court by the park, which she supposed should have been her first guess. Still. She liked to be prepared for all situations. Such was the nature of a Girl Scout dropout.

The court was deserted—where _was _everyone?—and though she followed Kirihara up onto it, she couldn't help but say, "So I'm gonna go ahead and point out that we don't have any racquets."

"Overrated," he declared, setting his things down by the fence. "Best of a one-set match. Call your own lines. I'll serve first." Sure enough, he went and stood at the baseline, and mimed bouncing a ball.

When she hesitated, he called out, "Come _on_, Tachibana—this is a Wimbledon final! Let's see some hustle."

An snorted, but deposited her things and jogged over to the other side of the court. He tossed the imaginary ball up in the air and pretended to hit it, and she split-stepped to where, judging by the way he'd served, a real ball would have landed, and returned it with a spectacular imaginary forehand.

Their pretend rally went on for seven minutes, which was absolutely, _absurdly _unrealistic in a real tennis match, until finally she went for a backhand down the line, and Kirihara pulled up short. "Out," he told her smugly.

She gaped at him. "What?"

"Out," he said again. "Outsies. Out of bounds. Not in. Not good. Bad. Unforced error. Thanks for playing. Try again next time."

"You're _blind_," she laughed. "That was _so _on the line! How could you possibly call that out?"

"Are you kidding? That was out by like, twenty feet! It was a _screaming _miss," he grinned, his eyes flashing in the dimness of mid-evening. "_You're _blind."

"Lies," she grinned back, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. "Lies and slander. I _saw _it hit the line." She ran over to check for a scuff-mark that, of course, wouldn't be there. Kirihara joined her. "See!" She pointed with her toe at a random mark on the line. "Right there. My shot was in."

"Are you challenging my call?" he demanded. "Are you _challenging _my _call_? It is _on_, you little punk." He mimed throwing his racquet to the ground, and she copied the action.

"Bring it," she sneered playfully, and when he took an exaggerated, menacing step toward her, she squared her shoulders, put up her fists—

And ran like hell.

He chased her out of the tennis court and into the park, across the soccer field and onto the empty playground. She laughed and darted about, always keeping something between them—the swings, or the slide, or the monkey-bars.

"Can't catch me," she teased from across the sandbox.

"Oh yeah?" he grinned, moving to the left when she shifted left, and to the right when she shifted right. "Labradoodle," he said archly, making her blink. "Jujitsu. Kumquat. Kerfuffle. Scallywag. Bamboozle—"

Unable to help herself, she laughed, and he took the opportunity to leap across and tackle her, sending them both crashing into the sandbox in a tangle of limbs and clothing. The sand softened their impact considerably, but still—

Considering how very short their acquaintance was, he'd already tackled her an inordinate amount of times.

Kirihara rolled off of her, and they both sat up, spitting sand out of their mouths. Her school uniforms had really been taking a beating recently. They stared at each other, covered in sand and just in a very broad, general state of messiness, and she would have sworn to God that there was nothing in the world as green as those eyes.

"Consider yourself bamboozled," he deadpanned, and laughed, a sound that was young and free and just… happy. Simply, wonderfully happy.

Her breath caught in her throat. And just like that—

"I'm sorry," she told him, the words floating out of her mouth, the words she'd been trying to say all day. "I just. I'm sorry—about… yesterday. I was—" she shrugged, kicked up some sand. "It was a bad day. But I didn't really… it wasn't fair for me to take it out on you.

"You were right," she went on, forcing herself to keep talking, to keep swallowing her pride. It was one of the hardest things she'd ever done. "Everything you said was… right." _I don't know you. I don't have any right to judge you. _

She couldn't look at him. "But I just—I don't know." She shrugged a little, picked up some sand and tossed it from hand to hand, letting it slip through her fingers like fairy dust. "I don't know anymore. I think that maybe…"

She faltered, collected herself—only to falter again. She couldn't imagine how she seemed to him, a girl that was either being nasty to him or laughing with him. It wasn't _her _fault she came off as so capricious, though. Her behavior towards him always would have been negative, if he hadn't—

If he didn't keep making her feel… good. Happy. Untroubled. Like she could forget about school and tennis and stress and competition and bullies and just have fun. Like she wasn't just somebody's little sister. Like she could be happy as well as strong.

He made her feel like the kind of person she wanted to be.

"I think that maybe… I think we should be friends," she said in a rush, letting a breeze blow away the small amount of sand she had in her hand. "I just really… I'm tired," she said lamely. "I'm tired of holding a grudge against you."

They sat in silence for what seemed a long time. She still couldn't bring herself to look at him, but she could feels his eyes on her, feel them the way you feel the heat of the sun on your bare skin. She shivered.

Finally he said, "I'm not blind." The words were slow and sure, weighed down by something.

She didn't understand what he meant by that—was he referencing her lighthearted comment from earlier, or something else?—but she did understand that he was giving her a chance. That they could be friends.

And that then, over time, she might know him well enough to understand what he'd meant.

* * *

Went to see part of the Legg Mason Tennis Classic yesterday. The players didn't hit around the pole, or split the ball in half, or start glowing... They're slackin', man.

Disclaimer: I do not own _Prince of Tennis_, or The Goo Goo Dolls' "Here is Gone" (lyrics at the top). Also do not own Pink's "So What."


	12. The Saints Can't Help Me Now

**250 Dark Stars**

_(You can tell me all _

_Your thoughts about the stars_

_That fill polluted skies)_

…

"… and so we'll be working on our project at that one bakery," Sayoko finished telling her brother on Friday. An's practice had ended early, and she'd gone to the boys' courts to get Sayoko.

"Which bakery?" Yukimura's eyes were on the racquet grip he was taping. He'd smiled at An when she'd arrived, and she'd had to let her hair fall forward so he wouldn't see her blushing.

She was so _embarrassed _by how she'd absolutely bawled into his blazer the other day, and she hadn't even gotten around to thanking him for what he'd done. More than that, though, when she was around him now, she felt… weird. Funny. And not even haha-funny, either, which was her favorite type of funny.

"The cute one." When he looked up to stare blankly at her, Sayoko sighed. "I forget the name, but you know, that one with the sign and curtains and windows."

Inwardly, An shook her head. _Way to be helpful, Sayoko._

Yukimura affected a look of mock-realization. "Oh, _that _bakery. That's the one with the tables, and chairs, and food, too, right?"

Sayoko appeared to waver between being amused and being irritated, and to An's surprise, the mahogany-haired girl settled on amused. "Right," she said, smiling slightly. "That one. The one where they bake stuff."

"That one," Yukimura agreed, rising from the bench, his racquet re-taped. "I suppose it doesn't really matter, as long as you keep your phone with you."

"But I was going to give it to a homeless person," Sayoko deadpanned, only to visibly cringe when her brother shot her a look. An also tensed—even just having Yukimura's disapproving gaze aimed at her general _direction _was stressful.

After a moment, the Child of God let the sharpness in his eyes dull, and reached over to tug on a lock of Sayoko's hair. "Call me if you need me."

"I will," the blue-eyed girl mumbled. "Bye." She turned and walked away quickly, her hair swishing.

Yukimura let his eyes rest on An. His expression was cordial, but An had a feeling he could maintain a pleasant demeanor even while planning to slit her throat. "Good luck with your project. Make sure Sayoko words hard."

An nodded, and swallowed. She had to thank him for saving her. _Okay, Tachibana, you can do this. He's just a normal person—a freakishly attractive, charismatic, intimidating person. Just open your mouth and speak. Open it… open ittttt… _

"Um, Yukimura-senpai—"

"An, come on," Sayoko called, her tone expectant.

Yukimura gestured for his younger sister to wait a minute, his eyes still holding An's. "What were you going to say?"

And just like on the rooftop, she couldn't look away. She was having trouble just thinking straight. "Nothing," she said softly, trying to count all the different shades of blue in his eyes. "Nothing."

~x~

"So are we saying that the Napoleonic Wars began with Napoleon's coup of 18 Brumaire, or when Britain and France made a renewed declaration of war on May 18, 1803?"

"Um." An, shuffled through her notes while sipping bubble tea. Who didn't love bubble tea? _Haters_. Also, people who were allergic to tapioca. But they were probably all haters, anyway. "Well, the renewed declaration of war is usually the most common date given for—"

A peal of laughter came from the other side of the bakery, and she sighed. "We are trying to _learn _over here, people."

"In hindsight, I realize that a place where people get hopped up on sugar might not be an ideal study spot," Sayoko mused. "Especially on a Friday afternoon."

"You could go give them that really mean look you gave to the people who were at the table beside us," An suggested, half-seriously. Kids from another school had been sitting beside them, making tons of noise, and Sayoko had shot them a look so cold they'd settled down immediately, and left soon after.

Some skills seemed to run in the Yukimura family.

Sayoko went stiff, and An feared she'd offended her. But then the blue-eyed girl craned her neck to see the people that were being so obnoxious. "One guy's really big," she observed. "I kind of don't feel like getting beat up today."

An rose partially to see. "He can't be that—holy crap." She slunk down in her seat. "Okay, yeah. When you're that big, you can be as loud as you want, even if it disrupts the education of two innocent high school students." She kind of wished she was that big.

Sayoko shut her laptop, sliding it back into its case. "Here, there's a library a few blocks away. One or two of the librarians are kind of big, but old and slow. We can take 'em."

"I'll bring my brass-knuckles." Who would have thought that Yukimura Sayoko could be easy to get along with, when she wanted to be?

~x~

They weren't allowed to have food or drinks inside the library, but after a few words with one of the not-big librarians, Sayoko got them permission to keep their bubble tea, provided they swore not to make a mess.

They set up shop at a long, scarred study-table. Mostly they worked in silence, each researching different aspects of the Napoleonic Wars. An was concentrating on the Duke of Wellington, who'd led the coalition forces against Napoleon. He was pretty cool—she owned a biography on him.

Still, there was only so much history she could stand for any given time.

After about twenty-five minutes, she started fidgeting, and after ten more minutes, her focus was completely shot. "If you could be any flavor of ice cream, what would you be?"

Sayoko looked startled. "If I could _be _a flavor of ice cream? Uh… mint chocolate chip, I guess."

"Why?"

"Because it's my favorite…" she trailed off, and appeared to really think about it. "Also, because if anyone was ever chasing me, I could lay down in the grass and blend in, being green and whatnot. It's a good defense mechanism."

"That goes along with the superpower I want," said An brightly.

"What superpower do you—?"

"Girls, you have to keep your voices _down_," was a librarian's reprimand. She'd come up to stand at the end of their table, giving them a stern glance over her horn-rimmed glasses, and An had to admit—she was kind of big.

But Sayoko turned the full brilliance of the dazzle-smile on her. "Oh my gosh, we're so sorry. We'll be much quieter, I promise. I feel so bad that we disturbed you."

"Well, not _me_," the librarian amended, clearly unable to keep from smiling back, just a little. "But the other people working. So just whisper."

"Definitely," Sayoko beamed at her, and once the older woman was out of earshot, she said more softly, "So what superpower do you want?"

"The ability to turn into a bucket of water," An replied, pleased with herself.

Sayoko's eyebrows drew together. "So what's the defense mechanism?"

"That _is _the defense mechanism," An pointed out. It was rather obvious. "If anyone's chasing _me_, I just turn into a bucket of water."

"What if they kick you over and all the water spills out?"

The chestnut-haired girl looked at her flatly. "Are you threatening me?"

Sayoko just laughed, and An said, "Anyway, sorry to interrupt your work. I'm just having trouble concentrating…"

"Oh," said the other girl, almost sheepishly. "I wasn't actually working, either." She turned her laptop to face An. There was only one window open, to the BBC World News website.

An shook her head. "See, when I'm messing around on the computer, I'm playing Robot Unicorn Attack. But you, you read an article about Japan's fiscal policy."

"Yeah, well…" Sayoko muttered, looking uncomfortable, and maybe even embarrassed. Quickly, she turned her laptop back around. "So anyway, for when we present our project—"

"If we ever finish it," An cut in, taking the straw out of her bubble tea cup and blowing air through it.

"When we present our project," Sayoko went on, "I think we should use a PowerPoint." At An's bored look, she added dryly, "Or we could have people act out the Napoleonic Wars through interpretive dance."

The chestnut-haired girl grinned. "Dude, that is so happening. People can do the running man to show people running from battle, and then like, the soulja boy for the actual battles. We can have battle reenactments!" She held up her straw. "En garde!"

Sayoko hesitated, her eyes darting around to check for people watching, and it occurred to An that despite the image of confidence and conceit that the other girl so often displayed, she was probably the most insecure person An had ever met.

Still, when she waved her straw in the air, Sayoko plucked hers from her cup, and they had at each other, striking and parrying and blocking from across the table.

"This should so be a sport," An laughed, jabbing at the other girl. "I mean, it's basically fencing."

"With tiny, fun-colored swords," Sayoko agreed, narrowly saving her own life by bringing her straw up to block a slash at her throat. "They _are _safer."

What was not safe was their future in the library, for at that moment the librarian returned, and she did not look like she wanted to join in on their fun. An and Sayoko dropped their straws like they burned.

Which kind of ticked An off, 'cause she'd been _winning_.

"Ladies," the librarian hissed, "I will _not _tolerate this type of childishness in my library. I have half a mind to throw you out this instant."

The girls exchanged a glance, one that communicated that Sayoko could probably get the lady to calm down and let them stay, but did they really _want _to? After a moment, An spoke up. "We were leaving, anyway. Sorry to bother you." _You nasty old cat-lady_.

Under the suspicious, watchful eye of the librarian, they gathered their things, and beat a hasty retreat out into the cool evening air. With a blouse and a blazer on, the temperature felt just right.

"So…" the girl with the blue-gray eyes began, rocking back on her heels. "On to round three. We could kick it hobo-style and just sit on the curb while we do our project."

Sayoko ran a hand through her hair, and it looked like a clip from a shampoo commercial. "I don't think we'd get anything done… not that we've gotten much done as it is."

"The bakery was too noisy, and the library… well, we were the noisy ones in the library. But we were awesome-noisy, instead of obnoxious-noisy." An confessed, "I don't really have any ideas."

The mahogany-haired girl chewed at her nails; she seemed to be debating with herself internally. Finally she said, carefully, "My house isn't far from here. We could work there."

That surprised a blink out of An. Living space was so cramped in Japan that it was very rare for children to invite their friends over to their homes. Typically they met in neutral settings, like cafés. But they needed to get work done…

And, okay. She would admit it. Seeing where the Child of God lived—that was a pretty special opportunity. She might become holy just by stepping over his threshold.

So she said, "Sounds good to me."

~x~

Sayoko's house was large, and pretty, painted white with blue shutters. A low stone wall ran along the property, and when they stepped through the gate, An saw that though the front yard was very small, the backyard seemed quite spacious.

"Back there is my brother's garden," Sayoko replied upon being asked. "He grows flowers and, I don't know, plants and stuff."

In a deadpan voice, An teased, "It's a bakery, you know, with windows. They bake stuff."

"Shut _up_," Sayoko said, but there was a smile in her voice. They entered the house, and as they took off their shoes, she called out, "I'm home! Anybody? Anybody…? Nope." To An, she explained, "Oniisan is probably somewhere with Sanada-senpai and Yanagi-senpai, and my parents get home kind of late on Fridays."

They sat down at the kitchen table, a beautiful thing made of gleaming oak, and Sayoko put a kettle on the stove and a bag of popcorn in the microwave. On the refrigerator were a few full-length articles about the future of Japanese tennis, Yukimura Seiichi, and some photos of him holding trophies.

"_Ow!_" Something sharp had dug into An's calf, and she looked down to find a small gray cat, staring up at her with harsh yellow eyes. The damn thing had scratched her. She could only hope it wasn't a werecat.

"You little monster," Sayoko muttered, grabbing the creature before it could have a second go at An. "Sorry about that. This is Wimble. He's a jerk." Still, she rubbed under his chin. "Who's a jerk? Who is? You are. Yes, you are."

"What happened to his tail?" It was a couple inches shorter than normal.

Sayoko scowled, and released the cat, letting him scamper off to another part of the house. "I don't wanna talk about it."

Thus, until she received information to the contrary, An would believe that it had been bitten off by a shark. It seemed reasonable.

They'd been working for twenty minutes when the front door opened. "I'm home."

"We're in the kitchen," Sayoko called to her brother, while An tried to act nonchalant and look absorbed in her work. She adopted The Thinker's pose, her chin resting on one hand, a pensive expression on her face—

Only to feel like a douche, and abandon the endeavor, settling for holding her pencil.

"Sayoko, I've told you a hundred times how pretentious it is to refer to yourself as—" Yukimura appeared in the doorway, saw An, and raised his eyebrows fractionally. "Hello."

"Hello, Yukimura-senpai… sorry for intruding."

"The bakery was too noisy, and the librarian hates us, so we're working on our project here," Sayoko explained somewhat hesitantly. "Is that okay?"

"Fine with me," he replied serenely, loosening his tie. "You're welcome anytime, Tachibana-kun." His smile was pleased and almost-smug, and An recalled his entreaty, to befriend his little sister.

After pouring himself a cup of the green tea Sayoko had made, he lingered in the kitchen for a minute or two of polite small-talk, before excusing himself to go to his room. Shortly afterwards, their parents arrived home, and An saw why Yukimura and his sister were so good-looking.

Yukimura Nanako was a lovely woman whose facial features and slenderness her children both shared, though only her son had her softly curling blue hair. Her husband, Asahi, had such a mien of calmness and authority that An couldn't help but be impressed. Sayoko and her brother had his blue blue eyes.

"It's very nice to meet you, Tachibana-kun," Sayoko's mother said warmly. "Please look after Sayoko." At this, the mahogany-haired girl made a face and directed her gaze down towards the table. "Although I worry—do you live close to here? It's gotten quite late, and it's already dark outside."

Sayoko and An looked at each other, then out the kitchen window. The sunlight had all but vanished, as the clock on the oven confirmed that it should have—it was almost eight-thirty p.m.

_Let's spell it together: F-R-I-C-K. Frickkkkkkk._

An stood up quickly. "I live kind of far from here," she admitted, hastily shoving her things into her bag. "If I hurry, I can make—"

Sayoko's father cut in, frowning. "I'd feel very uncomfortable, letting you either walk home or take the bus this late in the evening. If your parents don't mind, I think it would be best for you to stay the night." He shared a glance with his wife, who nodded in good-natured assent.

An could only blink. "Oh, but… it's all right, really. I couldn't possibly impose."

"It's no trouble at all." Sayoko's mother directed a glance at her daughter, and An realized that the two children hadn't gotten their forceful personalities only from their father. "Right, Sayoko?"

For a moment, the girl looked like she was floundering at the suddenness of it all, but then her face settled into a relaxed, confident expression that she must have made the conscious decision to construct. "Right. Please stay, An."

"I… I don't… okay," the chestnut-girl responded haltingly. "Thank you very much." Clasping her hands, she bowed her head to the other girl's parents. "I'll try not to be too much of a burden."

"Nonsense," said Sayoko's mother brightly, at the same time that her father said "We're glad to have you," and they looked at each other sideways, their eyes laughing.

Once the two had left the kitchen, Sayoko asked, "Should you call your parents?" Her arms were hugged to her chest.

"My aunt," An corrected, already pulling out her phone. She added flatly, almost to herself, "I doubt that she'll care." _That she'll even notice, really_.

At her tone, Sayoko directed a sharp look at her, but said nothing, for which An was grateful.

~x~

"These people in the photo… are they your American host family?" On the bulletin board in Sayoko's room was a picture of the mahogany-haired girl standing by a willow tree. With her was a family of Westerners—a woman and a man, and then a girl her own age, grinning broadly, her arm around Sayoko's neck.

Sayoko glanced up from where she knelt by her dresser. She hesitated, but admitted, "Yeah. The blond girl is—was, I guess—my host sister, Emily. We still email sometimes."

"That's really cool," said An admiringly. "I've never even been out of the country." Though she felt kind of like a creeper, she moved on to look at other things in Sayoko's room. She could tell she was making the other girl uncomfortable, but—

"Oh, wow. This is beautiful. Did you paint it?" Hanging by Sayoko's vanity table was a watercolor painting of a clocktower. In the picture, it was raining, and the whole world seemed to be dissolving, blurring in a smear of blues and grays, with faint accents of green and brown.

This time, Sayoko did not look up. "No, my brother did."

An turned on her in disbelief. "Are you serious?" She shook her head. "What _isn't _he good at?"

Sayoko smiled thinly, and didn't answer. Instead she held up a pair of flannel pajama pants in a pretty lavender plaid. "Are these okay?"

"They're great," An replied with forced cheer, aware that, while she herself was ill at ease with the whole situation, the blue-eyed girl was _way _out of her comfort zone. Of all the people to have a forced sleepover with… "And I can just wear the camisole I have under my blouse. Thanks a lot."

"No problem."

An took the pajama bottoms and went into the adjacent bathroom to change. By the time she came out, Sayoko had discarded her uniform in favor of ratty old sweats and a faded T-shirt. She sat on her bed, weaving her hair into two braids.

The girl with the blue-gray eyes grinned. Whenever people wore their hair like that, she thought of the Seigaku girl, Ryuuzaki. Sayoko and Sakuno's hair was even similar in color.

When Sayoko saw her expression, she froze. "What?" Her tone was sharp, but An recognized it as defensive.

"Nothing. Just, having your hair like that, you remind me of someone." When the other girl pressed her lips together, as if considering taking the braids out, she went on exasperatedly, "Really, it's nothing. It looks fine. Leave them."

The mahogany-haired girl regarded her for a moment, then shrugged, and finished the second braid by winding a hairband around the end. "Okay," she said, and stood up. "Well… do you want to go downstairs and watch a movie?" It was too early to sleep.

"Sure."

They crept down the stairs, taking care not to make them creak—Sayoko's parents had already retired for the night. An chose a movie from the DVD rack while Sayoko grabbed blankets and a bag of marshmallows, and in no time at all _The Princess Bride _started up. They'd decided to play it in English, with Japanese subtitles.

"The scenes with the grandfather reading to the little kid are kind of dumb," Sayoko commented from where she was sprawled out across the sofa. "It should just be the story presented by itself."

"Seriously." An was curled up on the loveseat. "The kid's cute, but not _nearly _as cute as the guy who plays Westley."

"The old guy's kind of hot, though," Sayoko said with a straight face, and they both laughed, and compared their favorite actors. An said Johnny Depp, and Sayoko chose Viggo Mortensen. They decided that Buttercup was a really dumb name for anyone except a Powerpuff girl, and competed to see who could fit the most marshmallows in their mouth.

Sayoko won, to An's surprise and annoyance. _Note to self: Practice expanding cheeks. Perhaps find way to unhinge jaw, like a snake. _

Or maybe next time she could just swallow a couple of the marshmallows and hope Sayoko didn't notice. But to die from choking on a marshmallow, that would be pretty lame. Unless she won, which would make up for it. Then, on her gravestone, they could put _Tachibana An: Champion Marshmallow-Stuffer-in-Mouther._

Or something.

Toward the second half of the movie, she found herself getting sleepy, and when it ended, she looked over to find that Sayoko was already fast asleep—not to mention drooling on the armrest. An closed her eyes, and had almost fallen asleep herself when she heard soft footsteps.

She shot up, her back ramrod-straight and her burglar-senses tingling—she needed a frying-pan or a baseball bat or a machete, for Chrissake she'd settle for a _ballpoint pen_, anything, anything—

"I'm sorry." That was Yukimura's voice, quiet and amused, and she whipped her head to find him hovering by the entranceway to the kitchen, a glass of water in his hand. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"Oh—no," she stammered. "I was just, ummm." _Getting whiplash. _"Doing sit-ups. For tennis. Core-strength, it's, you know, important…" She could see his smile in the darkness, bright and white and straight out of a Crest commercial, and she couldn't have been more embarrassed.

A pause.

"So how are things?" she asked lamely.

"Good, thanks for asking." He drifted closer, his free hand in the pocket of his pajama pants. His plain white T-shirt filled out his shoulders nicely, and it occurred to her that she was in a camisole.

Hastily, she grabbed the blanket that was bunched around her feet and yanked it up to cover her chest, trying to make it look natural. She should have gotten used to the Yukimura siblings surprising her, but it was still hard for her to trust her ears when she heard him cough slightly.

"I really am sorry to have woken you."

"No, really," she lied. "I was—" He gave her a look, and she subsided. "It's fine. Um, I'm awake now?"

He tilted his head, a piece of hair falling across his eyes, and offered a small smile. "Want to watch TV?" When she glanced over at Sayoko's prone form, the smile turned mischievous. "Trust me, we won't wake her up."

He ambled over and poked his sister on the shoulder. "Sayoko. Sayoko, if you don't wake up this instant, we're sending you to reform school." He poked her cheek, poked her forehead, and the girl crinkled up her nose, but otherwise did not stir.

"The kid sleeps like she's dead," he explained, and lowered himself into the armchair. After turning the TV to a number he must have known by heart, the Tennis Channel came on. A men's semifinals match in a European tournament was being aired. Nadal vs. Tsonga.

She beamed. "I _love _Rafael Nadal. The amount of topspin he gets on the ball, it's amazing." He was also really hot—but she figured that wasn't something Yukimura would appreciate as much.

"He's an incredible player," the blue-haired boy agreed, his eyes gleaming with something she recognized from her brother—the desire to play someone strong. "The way he's evolved every aspect of his game is seriously impressive."

They debated who would ultimately win more Slams, Federer or Nadal, and discussed the differences between the women's and men's tours. An found that she had to come up with exceptionally convincing arguments to influence his opinions even the tiniest bit.

But he did listen to her. He listened, and he thought about what she said, and he took her _seriously_, took her at face-value, did not automatically dismiss her reasoning because she was younger or a girl or the little sister of someone more accredited.

And damn, if that wasn't something.

The trace of a grin still lingered on Yukimura's face (An had done an exaggerated imitation of Serena Williams' grunt) when he posed, "How is your brother doing? He went pro, didn't he?"

"Yeah, he's doing pretty well," she smiled. "Really making a dent in the Challenger tournaments. His coach is going to have him compete to qualify for the upcoming U.S. Open. He'd try for the French, or Wimbledon, but he's not that comfortable on different surfaces yet."

"Understandable," the blue-eyed boy murmured, and though his tone was soft, amiable, she detected—something. She wasn't sure whether it went as far as bitterness, but it was at least frustration, or aggravation. Her brother was succeeding where Yukimura was not yet even allowed to try, and dwelling on that bothered the boy sitting across from her.

And that bothered _her_, so she asked quickly, "Do you know which team you'll be playing on Sunday?"

He named a school located about twenty minutes west of Rikkai, distinctly blasé and unconcerned about the matter, before he seemed to remember something. He leaned back in his chair to level a considering look at her.

"Actually, my team will be participating in a tennis clinic a few weeks from now. Hyotei, Seigaku, and Shitenhouji will be there as well. We've been instructed to bring two volunteers." He smiled at her. "Would you like to go?"

On one hand, it annoyed her that the boys' team got funding for a clinic when the girls' didn't. On the other hand, if she went, she would get to spend time with friends she hadn't seen in a while, as well as with…

As well as with the boy with angel-blue eyes. "I would actually like that a lot," she replied, smiling shyly. "Thank you. Do you know who the other volunteer will be?"

"Mm? Oh, Sayoko, I imagine."

An hesitated. "Have you… _asked _her whether she wants to go?"

"I haven't," he admitted casually, his eyes asking, _What of it? _

And part of her wanted to tell him that she found it uncharacteristically heavy-handed of him to go ahead and involve his sister in things without asking her. A part of her wondered at the urgency with which he was trying to change Sayoko, to fix her.

But the larger part of her did not want to cross or question him, did not want to do anything that might compromise whatever relationship between them was taking root. She wanted him to like her, to think highly of her. She wanted to be held in esteem by such a brilliant, gifted person—a great person, it occurred to her. A great person.

And so she did not speak her mind.

Unfortunately, the spell was already broken, and Yukimura rose to his feet fluidly, without any discernable effort. "At any rate," he said, a smile lurking in his voice. "Time for bed."

He went over to the couch and picked Sayoko up, grimacing when he must have gotten her drool on one of his hands. The girl laid in his arms bonelessly, her sleeping face blank and her head lolling against his shoulder.

Indicating for An to follow him, he carried his sister up the stairs, her long brown braids swinging. After setting her down on her bed and covering her with a blanket, he smoothed her hair once before he exited the room, closing the door behind him carefully.

He led An further down the hallway, to a small, elegantly decorated but clearly impersonal bedroom. A guestroom. "The bed's already been made," he informed her, his hand coming up to stifle what she suspected would have been a yawn.

In that moment, there in the dark, he felt approachable to her, real and accessible for the first time, and she found that she could say softly, "Yukimura-senpai… thank you, for a few days ago." For a wavering, delicate moment, she held his eyes with her own, then had to look away.

"Of course." His expression was impossible to read, but he touched her shoulder for a fleeting moment, before drawing away, walking toward what must have been his own room. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," she murmured, and looked back up in time to catch the final smile he offered her.

~x~

His eyes, blue and bright in the darkness. The butterfly touch of his fingers on her bare shoulder. His genuine smile, hard-won and lovely and heartbeat-precious. The warm, glowing feeling he gave her.

Those were the things she would remember from that night, as well as the question—

_Do I have a crush on Yukimura Seiichi?_

* * *

Dedicated to **ChiyakoChan **for probably being the sweetest person everrrrr._  
_

Disclaimer: I do not own _Prince of Tennis_, or Thriving Ivory's "Angels on the Moon" (lyrics at the top). _  
_


	13. With Drops of Jupiter in Her Hair

**250 Dark Stars**

_(And even if we can't be friends_

_You're gonna be brighter_

_Than you've ever been)_

…

"Matches have been delayed two hours," Shimizu announced on Sunday, running in and shaking the water out of her hair like a dog. To shelter from the downpour, Rikkai had snagged the only large pavilion the tournament grounds had to offer.

("Only winners get to be dry," Shimizu had explained cheerfully. "The other teams just have to suck it.")

"So," she went on, "until then, we could stretch, or do jumping-jacks, or—" Fuyumi, asleep at one of the tables, let out a soft snore. Shimizu's mouth twitched. "Well said, Fuyumi. All in favor of just chilling?" The girls started to raise their hands, but Shimizu waved hers impatiently. "Oh, put your hands down—what do you think this is, a goddamned democracy?"

On that note, she skipped over to the captain's table, sat down—and seemed to be asleep within seconds.

An would have appreciated a nap, but the temperature was too cool to be comfortable. Even with her jacket zipped all the way up, she had to hug her arms to her chest, and her legs were _freezing_. She'd forgotten her warm-up pants. What could she do to keep warm? She could do sprints, or lunges… She could set the pavilion on fire…

Or she could get her circulation going with an epic dance party. That would be cool. Instead of playing tennis to determine who advanced to the next round, they could have a dance-off with the other teams. Who needed a good forehand when you could do the worm?

That thought in mind, she lay down on one of the benches, and wrapped her arms around her knees, effectively assuming the fetal position. She stayed like that for a while, listening to the rain, and was begining to doze off when…

"It's Yukimura-senpai!" Kiko exclaimed from right beside her, and An jerked, trying to sit up quickly—

Only to fall right off the bench.

She was really starting to hate benches.

But sure enough, what seemed to be a small army in Rikkai's trademark yellow was approaching, with Yukimura in the lead, holding an umbrella over himself and his little sister. The group headed to the pavilion where the girls were situated.

An's heart started beating faster. To have feelings for someone like Yukimura… No way did that make sense. Well, it _did_—he was gorgeous and charming and talented. But his morals were so _questionable_, and he was so very different than her…

Thinking there could ever be a relationship between them, that was ridiculous. She would just have to pretend everything was normal.

When the Yukimura siblings stepped in from the rain to find her sprawled on the cement floor, they raised their eyebrows simultaneously. In that moment, the resemblance between them was genuinely startling.

Then, of course, An had to explain herself. So much for normal. _I just fought off a ninja. _"… I fell."

While fighting off a ninja.

Sayoko ducked her head to hide what was might have been a smile, but her brother wore his openly. Handing the umbrella to his sister, he walked over and crouched down, offering a hand to the chestnut-haired girl.

His eyes shone with laughter, and An's face heated up. "It's not funny."

"Maybe not to the person on the floor," he admitted easily. "But to me, there is a certain amusement factor, yes." He helped her up, and the brief contact made her veins run with liquid sunshine.

She brushed herself off, and bowed her head to him, wishing that for _once _he could find her in a dignified position. "Thank you, Yukimura-senpai."

"Not at all." He regarded her almost warmly. "Did you see that Nadal went on to win the whole tournament?"

"Yes!" she enthused, and the older boy's smile spoke of amusement. "I was so happy. It got scary in the second set of the final—that double-fault, and all."

"Quite scary," he agreed, in the too-cordial tone that meant he was teasing her. With a last smile on her behalf, he went over to where Fuyumi and Shimizu were. The captain was blinking sleepily.

The girl with the gray-green eyes, however, didn't seem drowsy at all, as if to her sleeping was nothing more than powering down, and she could revert right back to alertness with the flip of a switch. "Hi, Yukimura."

"Shimizu-chan, Fuyumi-chan," he replied graciously. "Please forgive the intrusion of my team, at least until the rain lets up."

The two girls shared a glance, and unsurprisingly, it was Shimizu who spoke. "No problem—if only because your team could probably take ours in a fight."

A serene smile, one that clashed with the wickedness in his eyes. "Oh, I hope it doesn't come to blows. That would be dreadful," he murmured, and sat down with them.

An felt—not the _weight _of eyes on her, but… the heat. She turned to find Kirihara standing nearby, looking at her very carefully. He'd observed the way her gaze had automatically followed Yukimura. Defensively, she went to snap at him—but recalled that they were supposedly friends now, at her own request. So instead, she steeled herself… and walked over to smile hesitantly at him.

"Hi," she said, trying to ignore the awkwardness. When he did not respond, she continued, "This is the part where you say 'hi' back. Or, I don't know, something more manly—'hn,' or 'yo,' or 'wazzupppp.'"

At that, his lips parted in a crooked smile. "You're really lame. So you know."

She put a hand over her mouth in mock-surprise. She wasn't sure how the other aspects of friendship would work out between them, but bantering, at least, came naturally. "Ladies and gentlemen, the boy _can _speak! Please, do say something else, oh king of cool."

"For such a little thing, you sure are mouthy," he remarked, and yawned, stretching his arms up before putting them behind his head. Then he smirked. "Cold, huh?"

She'd been bouncing around to stay warm. "How are you _not_? It's freezing. I just saw a penguin walk by." She did a penguin-walk for him, waddling from side to side, and he laughed out loud.

"Cool people don't get cold," he informed her. "You know, 'cause we're… well, 'cause we're cool."

She waited a moment before asking respectfully, "Did that make more sense in your head?"

"It really did, now that you mention it." He dipped his chin to consider her, a stray curl falling into his eyes. She didn't understand how he could just leave it like that, not push it away. "So how cold are you, on a scale of one to ten?"

"Uh, I don't know. Maybe a seven?"

He grinned at her. "And how cold are you if I do this?" Suddenly one of his arms was not behind his head but around her waist, and she thought confusedly: _Is he going to hold me, to keep me warm?_

Instead, he used his hold on her to send her spinning out from under the roof, into the icy-cold rain.

And for a moment… for a moment, she just stood there as raindrops pelted her skin, just stood there and looked at the laughing boy with the green eyes.

—Then she darted back under, spluttering and dripping and _livid_, but somehow amused. "You _jerk_." She punched him in the arm. At the commotion, some people looked over, but she didn't care.

He just kept laughing, his head thrown back and his shoulders shaking, and though she glowered at him, she couldn't help but laugh a little as well. "You look like a drowned rat," he told her, grinning and bright-eyed and _dynamic_.

"You just _are _a rat." She tried to wring the water out of her hair. She hadn't gotten _too _wet, but… "If I get hypothermia because of you, we won't be on speaking terms."

"I wouldn't want to talk to you anyway, since you'd be all sick and gross."

"I will, however, send you very mean letters," she went on determinedly, pretending he hadn't spoken. "There will be lots of capital letters, and underlining, and everything will be written in red pen."

"Red for Communism?" he guessed. "You know, the first time I saw you, I was like 'Damn, I bet that kid's a Communist.'"

"Red for _anger_," she corrected, trying not to let a grin crack her straight face. "Angry red pen. You will see the red and you will feel my wrath. And with luck, there will be a bull near you, and the bull will see the red and charge you."

"Right, because I spend _so_ much time hanging around bulls." He brushed a finger under his nose in what she was beginning to recognize as a gesture characteristic of him, and smirked. "You know, you really couldn't be less intimidating if you tried."

"_You _couldn't be more of a jerk if you tried. Now I'm gonna go try to walk off impending pneumonia, if it's all the same to you."

He just shrugged and put his hands behind his head again, looking out toward the falling rain, and even as she walked away from him, shivering, she couldn't help but smile.

On a whim, she went looking for Sayoko. It was more of a reason to warm up via movement than anything. She found her sitting at a table with, of all people, Niou. The two were speaking quietly to each other, their voices inaudible until she drifted closer.

"… and that's why leopards have spots."

Inwardly, An raised her eyebrows. _Okayyyy._

Sayoko looked like she was trying not to laugh. "Senpai, even for a myth, that's absurd. That's just—that's _silly_." She did laugh then, a reluctant, helpless giggle that slipped from her lips and made Niou's turn upwards in a smirk.

He sat back, absently rubbing at his jaw with his thumb. "Yeah? If you're so smart, let's hear _you_ explain it." He appeared somewhat engaged in the conversation, which threw An for a loop. She was used to him being circumspectly aloof.

The blue-eyed girl rose to the challenge, a haughty tilt to her chin. "Well…" she began. "A long time ago, the leopard was very lonely. He didn't have any friends because all the other animals were afraid of his big teeth. They were nice teeth, though," she added thoughtfully. "White, and healthy. He had a good dental package."

"Focus," Niou deadpanned.

Sayoko blushed, and shot the older boy a freezing look to detract attention from that—or so An assumed. The silver-haired boy was having none of it, though, and flicked her forehead.

She scowled at him. "Anyway," she said pointedly. "Anyway… the leopard was very lonely, so he went to a wishing well. He dropped a silver coin in, and wished for something that would make the other animals like him. The next morning, he woke up with spots." At Niou's prompting look, she clarified, "You know, 'cause spots are… you know, spotty. They look like chocolate chips. Everyone likes chocolate chips."

A pause.

"That was just awful. Mine was definitely better." Niou stood, and placed his hands in the pockets of his warm-up pants. "Good effort though, sweetheart." He threw her a taunting smile, and sauntered away without a backwards glance. An expected Sayoko to be offended by the less-than-polite departure, but the other girl just shook her head.

Before she knew exactly what she was doing, the chestnut-haired girl slid in to sit across from her. "I do not mean to pry, but you don't by any chance happen to have six fingers on your right hand?"

Sayoko smirked, quoting the next line from _The Princess Bride_: "Do you always start your conversations this way?"

An grinned. "Only with people that have a clue what I'm talking about. So hey, were you and Niou-senpai making up your own myths? That's so random, but kind of cool."

The blue-eyed girl looked at her for a long moment, and An suspected she was mentally determining how best to respond—openly, or with a cool look and a short comment?

She felt like she was finally starting to understand the girl sitting across from her.

More than that, though… she'd found common ground with the other girl, shared interests, and they were discovering that their personalities worked well together. Their strained, complicated acquaintanceship was almost—it could almost build up to a _friendship_, somehow.

Another moment passed before Sayoko allowed for a small, self-conscious smile. "Yeah. It's just this thing, I guess. I don't know. We haven't done it in a long time. He's just in a really good mood today. I think he likes the rain."

Niou hadn't appeared any happier or more relaxed than normal—but then An recalled how he'd seemed almost animated when talking to the mahogany-haired girl, and figured that should have tipped her off. "In other news," she began, biting her lip to keep from laughing. "Am totes digging your boots."

In addition to the yellow slicker she wore, the other girl was clad in a pair of tall, shiny red rain-boots. They were the most ridiculous things An had ever seen. She _needed _a pair.

Sayoko treated her to a lofty, disdainful look. "I just don't like getting wet, okay," she snipped, but when An only grinned at her, the corner of her mouth twitched. "When I was little, I used to pretend I was the Morton Salt girl."

"It's true." Her brother strolled over to stand at the end of the table. Every movement, every gesture of his… it was like it was directed in a movie. "She would walk down the street with a giant umbrella—while the weather was perfectly clear, mind you—and just trail salt behind her. Strange kid, this one."

Sayoko's expression became equal parts embarrassed and sulky, and Yukimura glanced at An, his eyes all but dancing with mischief. The Child of God, An was learning, had a wicked sense of humor. For the other girl's sake, she tried to hide her smile, but had little success.

The blue-eyed boy tilted his head to assess her quizzically, and reached over to touch a lock of her wet hair, his fingertips accidentally grazing her jaw. Luckily, he pulled away before he could feel the blush that burned her face. "What were you doing in the rain?"

"Oh," she said, and ran a hand through her hair, pretending to check how wet it was, when really she was just messing it up so that it hid her red cheeks. "Kirihara pushed me out from under the pavilion."

Yukimura did not look surprised, only exasperated. "I hope you at least kicked him in the shin."

"I meant to, but—we started talking about angry letters, and Communism, and bulls, and I kind of forgot."

A pause, and then: "You're a peculiar girl," he told her, eyes blue and smile fond, and for lack of a better response, she just sat there, grinning like an idiot. Honestly, she was just glad she didn't fall off the bench.

Yukimura smiled to himself and turned away, clearly not receiving the barrage of mental pleas that An sent him.

_Don't go. Talk to me. Like me. Think I'm special._

It was a good thing he didn't get the messages, though—that would not have stuck with her strategy for normalcy. But _damn_, when he smiled at her, she didn't care.

Sayoko shot her a curious look, but said nothing. The rain was falling lightly now; once it stopped completely, tournament officials would go over the courts with squeegees, and the matches would begin.

"Hey, Sayoko?"

The blue-eyed girl flicked her gaze toward An to show she was listening, before turning back to rifling through her bag.

"Thank you for a few days ago," An said softly. "For going to get your brother."

That gave the other girl pause, and she straightened, blinking large startled eyes as she pushed back an errant wing of hair. "Oh," she said. "Oh. No problem. I…" She looked away, cleared her throat.

"I just… I… thanks. Thank you. For what you did… that day."

In her mind's eye, An saw a girl kneeling by a toilet, retching and crying and shaking like a leaf. But then she saw the same girl sitting on a couch, her hair in two long braids and her cheeks swollen like a chipmunk's, stuffed with marshmallows.

And she said, "You're welcome."

~x~

"Consistency."

An jumped. "Shimizu-fukubuchou! Please don't come up behind me like that." Fuyumi and Takamiya had just finished decimating the other team in Doubles 1, and An was about to step onto the court.

"Consistency," Shimizu said again, over the "One more! One more! Rikkai Dai!" cheers of the small crowd that had gathered. "Consistency. You know the drill, with conditions like these."

She did. The courts had been dried as much as possible, but there were still puddles that the ball would absorb, becoming heavy and slow. As if that weren't enough, there was a slight breeze, strong enough to blow out a shot that would have been on the line.

"I do," An agreed, running her fingers over her racquet strings, her heart thrumming with excitement and apprehension. "Consistency," she said, before Shimizu could repeat it, and the older girl grinned.

"All right, all right. Close it out, kiddo."

An saluted her, and went to shake hands with her opponent. "Let's have a good match."

The other girl—a bit taller, and strongly built, with dark features—merely nodded, neither friendly nor unfriendly. That was good. Sometimes when the other person was really likable, An felt bad about beating them into the ground.

Except not really.

Making her way back to the baseline, she received a small nod from Fuyumi, who sat at the coach's bench, her legs crossed at the ankles. An nodded back, and started bouncing a ball. She'd won the right to serve first.

She tossed the ball up and struck it down, sending it hurtling toward the leftmost service-box, and the match began.

An quickly realized that she was faster than the other girl, that her shots were better, cleaner, sharper—but also that bad conditions were the great equalizer. No matter how well she hit it, the ball was slowed down by how soggy it became, and the other girl could catch up with it.

She was up 2 – 1 when they changed courts for the second time—so far they were on-serve. She stood before Fuyumi, hands behind her back, and awaited groundbreaking advice.

The tall girl shrugged. "What do you want me to say? I can't improve the conditions." Really, there wasn't much to say—An was doing everything right. She just had to be patient, stay calm.

Of course, that was easier said than done when they were at 4 – all. She'd had a chance to break the other girl's serve, but lost it. They'd been at deuce, and a careless backhand into the net and then a good shot blown out by the wind gave the game to her opponent.

—Whom she had taken to calling nasty names in her head. It helped relieve some of the stress. If you can't grind someone into the court the way you should be able to, you can at least mentally address them as Fugly Bitch.

After holding her serve to take it to 5 – 4, she again went before Fuyumi. Those quick brown eyes were impatient, and possibly annoyed. She tapped her temple with one long finger. "It's all up here, Tachibana. You're better than this girl. Let's see you play like it."

And just like that, she decided:

_This chick won't get another damn _point _off me._

She got back into position, and when her opponent served, she whipped it cross-court, hard and fast and merciless, impossible to reach even when slowed down by water. A return-ace. With an even, determined face and sudden, explosive energy, An took the game, closing out the set 6 – 4.

"That was more like it," Fuyumi acknowledged as An sucked down a bottle of water. She seemed perfectly calm, save for a faint smile. "Now let's see you do it for six more games."

_Let's see some good tennis._

To An's extreme irritation, her opponent managed to hold serve when down 3 – 0, and the final match score ended up being 6 – 4, 6 – 1. Still, she was pretty happy—she'd secured the victory for Rikkai, and raised the level of her game.

For this, she expected a little praise, but—"The way you powered through that last set?" Shimizu smirked, handing An a towel. "That's how you should always play, honey. We expect that from you for every set, every game, every point."

The chestnut-haired girl exhaled slowly. Her legs were weak and rubbery, completely spent from the exertion. She felt tired mentally, as well—maintaining that sort of laser-focused intensity for that long had really taken its toll on her. And that was what they wanted from her all the time?

_Welcome to Rikkai, _she told herself exasperatedly, but even her internal voice was tinged with satisfaction.

~x~

After finishing, the girls went to watch the boys play. To save time, they had begun earlier than normal, and their court was at the bottom of a gentle hill, with students and fans keeping the bleachers more than three-fourths full.

An suspected the entertainment factor was similar to the one that, in medieval times, had drawn spectators to executions.

As they approached, she saw that Sayoko sat not in the bleachers but on the slope of the hill, her slicker spread out beneath her. "Here, I'm gonna go sit with Sayoko for a bit," she told Kiko. "You wanna come?"

The honey-haired girl didn't try very hard to conceal her distaste. "No thanks. I'm gonna go wish Yukimura-senpai good luck."

"Oh," said An. "Um… Wish him good look from me, too. Actually—yeah. But maybe—yeah. Yeah, tell him that from me, please." _Except make me sound cool and nonchalant, instead of like a stammering idiot._ Also, a Kansai accent would be nice.

"Hey, how goes it," she said to Sayoko once Kiko had walked away, trying to affect the low, rolling drawl of Hyotei's Oshitari Yuushi.

"Hey," Sayoko replied, and then: "Is something stuck in your throat?"

An deflated, and switched back to her normal voice. "Uh, no. No, I'm good."

_Note to self: Work on accents in case ever recruited to be a secret agent. Also, remember to pick up milk on way home. Limeade with cereal isn't cutting it._

Secret agents needed their calcium.

After a few moments of hesitation, Sayoko scooted over, and An sat down on the other half of the slicker. "Heard you won your match. Congratulations."

"Thanks. What can I say, I was up 5 – love in the first set, and then I was like, hey, might as well make it dramatic, so I let the other girl win four games. And then I _creamed _her in the second."

"But it wasn't enough to even warm you up, so afterwards you found a bear to wrestle, and then an old lady to walk across the street," Sayoko agreed, her eyes dancing like her brother's.

"Exactly, except it was the other way around—I wrestled the old lady, and helped the bear cross the street. Old lady almost had me pinned."

"And I'm sure you got a Girl Scout patch for helping the bear. The ursine assistance patch, that's coveted."

It transpired that they'd both dropped out of Girl Scouts, and they were exchanging horror stories—Sayoko told of the camping trip from hell, while An shared about the time she'd tried to sell cookies to a prison—when it occurred to her to ask, "What are you doing sitting here, anyway, instead of with everyone else?"

Sayoko brushed some dirt off her boots. "At practices I can get the girls to leave me alone if I look at them meanly enough, but at matches, no go. If I sit in the bleachers, I get swamped—on the off-chance that my brother looks at me, people want to be around so he'll see them, too."

An opened her mouth to speak, but a voice came from a couple feet behind them. "Rikkai really looks invincible this year, huh?"

Three boys wearing the jerseys of another team stood there, watching as Marui and Jackal beat the living daylights out of the other Doubles 2 team. The guy who'd spoken hadn't been talking to the two girls, but when they turned around, he grinned.

"Hey there. Rikkai girls, am I right?"

An and Sayoko glanced at each other, then at the jersey An wore. "You've demonstrated the associative abilities of a marmoset," the blue-eyed girl deadpanned, before turning back to watch the match.

All three stiffened, and An said hastily, "Yes, we're from Rikkai." No need to be rude. She shot the other girl an annoyed look, which went ignored.

At her conciliatory tone, the guys relaxed somewhat, and drew closer. One plopped down beside An. He wasn't bad-looking. "We'll be playing your boys in the next round. Any tips you can give us?"

"Get bitten by a radioactive spider. You'll need superpowers if you want to stand a chance."

"Aw, come on," said another boy, the one who'd first spoken. He nudged Sayoko playfully. "Isn't there anything you can tell us? Any weaknesses? It's not like we expect to win—just want to even things out a bit."

"Don't touch me." Sayoko's flat, hostile tone made the guy take a step back, his eyes wide.

"Hey, hey," the guy beside An protested. She could tell he was getting irritated. "Shouldn't such a cute girl have a better personality? Try and be more like this one." He jerked his head towards An.

_Oh no he did _not.

"'This one' thinks it's time for you to leave," she snapped.

"Guys, we really _should_ go…" muttered the boy who, until then, hadn't spoken. He hung back, glancing uneasily at the court, where the girls' situation had not gone unnoticed. An saw Niou drape himself over the fence to say something to Yukimura, and the boy on the coach's bench looked toward the hill.

The guy beside the chestnut-haired girl stood, and she suspected he would have left—had Sayoko not rubbed him the wrong way. "Now, hang on. I knew all the Rikkai boys were arrogant sons of bitches, but I didn't think the girls would be bad-mannered as well."

He sneered at them. "You two should find better role models. That Sanada is by no means a good guy… and God knows no one can stand holier-than-thou Yukimura Seiichi."

And suddenly Sayoko was on her feet. "How dare you even say my brother's _name_." Her eyes blazed, and one of the boys actually took a faltering step backwards. An wanted to as well.

Instead she got up, hands fisted. Objectively she knew that these guys weren't even worth their time, but her temper was rising, and it took all of her self-control not to go off on them.

The boy who'd wanted to leave grabbed the arm of the guy who'd insulted Yukimura. "Dude, let's _go_. That's Yukimura's _little sister_."

The other two looked at each other, torn between common sense and pride, and the reasonable boy just shook his head, turning away. "Whatever. I'm out of here." He walked away quickly.

"Just _leave_," An ordered those that remained. "No one wants you here. Stay any longer and you'll make her brother mad," she nodded to Sayoko, "and believe me, the guy's scary enough as it is. I doubt you want to see him when he's angry."

One guy glared at her viciously, but the other just spat on the ground. "Bitches," he muttered. "Come on, we've wasted enough time. Let's get outta here." They stormed off after their teammate.

An exhaled, and glanced at the other girl, who had gone still with calm, cold anger. "Let it go," she advised. "They're not worth it."

"Okay, _seriously_?" a voice grumbled. Kirihara strode toward them, and lifted his chin to see the retreating backs of the other team—they'd sped up when they heard his voice. "I walked all the way up this damn hill, and I don't even get to punch anyone?"

"You could punch me," An pointed out, "but I would then gouge out your eyes."

He appeared to think about it. "Not worth it," he said at last. "I have great eyes, everybody says so." He kicked Sayoko lightly in the ankle. "Your brother—"

"Get away from me," she muttered, snatching up her slicker and beginning the march down to where the team was. She shouldn't have been able to burn with righteous fury while wearing shiny red rain-boots, but somehow she pulled it off.

"Sayoko, wait," An called after her, and when the blue-eyed girl paused— "Watch out for old ladies. They can have you in a headlock within seconds."

The mahogany-haired girl's lips twitched, despite what appeared to be her best effort to remain livid. Finally she said, "Remember that bears sometimes stop in the middle of the street. Always use a crosswalk." Then she tossed her hair and continued on her way.

Kirihara looked baffled. "What went _on _up here?"

An just shrugged, and rubbed her face, trying to release her lingering anger. Her adrenaline was pumping—despite how tired she'd been after her match, she now felt like she needed to just _run _for a while.

The black-haired boy eyed her. "You okay?"

She tensed, but—there was no malice or mockery on his face. He wasn't making fun of her, or implying that she couldn't handle herself. Instead he seemed… just the slightest bit concerned. About _her_.

God, that was so bizarre.

"I… yeah. I'm okay," she told him, smiling almost shyly. They met each other's eyes for a moment, but—she'd spent enough time thinking about bright-eyed boys for one day.

And so: "Race you around the grounds _go_!" She started running, and he took off after her, and as she ran ran ran she realized:

_We really could be friends._

* * *

Tennis clinic will begin next chapter, I suspect. Much gratitude toward **xxTemarixx **for advice and critique and just general hand-holding. Also, thanks to the anonymous reviewers! _  
_

Disclaimer: I do not own _Prince of Tennis_, or Ryan Cabrera's "Shine On" (lyrics at the top). Also do not own _The Princess Bride_, or the Morton Salt girl. _  
_


	14. It's Rising in the Back of Your Mind

**250 Dark Stars**

_(You're waiting for someone to put you together_

_You're waiting for someone to push you away_

_There's always another wound to discover)_

…

A week later, the umpire called out "Fifteen – love," and An looked down to hide her smug smile. It was the finals of the district preliminaries—both of Rikkai's doubles teams had won without breaking a sweat, and An was about to seal the deal with Singles 3. She'd already taken the first set at 6 – 2, and now, at 5 – 1, was poised to take the second set, and the match with it.

Sucking in a steadying breath, she served the ball straight down the T of the service boxes. The other girl had clearly expected her to go for the corners, and didn't even manage to get her racquet on the ball. An ace.

Her opponent was pretty good—they were a decent team overall—but earlier in the week, An had challenged Katsuragi for the Singles 2 spot, and gone down in a third-set tiebreaker.

She was _still _pissed-off, and not above taking it out on whoever happened to be across the net from her. Fortunately, this anger had condensed itself into energy and willpower, and so far she'd blown through the match at the same intensity as she had the second set of her previous match.

As An walked over to pick up another ball, she heard an onlooker mutter, "Rikkai's Tachibana An… We better have gotten some good notes on her. The match is almost over."

_It's like people think the fence is soundproof, _she thought, and then: _Hell _yeah _you better take good notes._ She considered making a general announcement that her favorite food was tempura. She felt it was relevant, useful information.

A short point later, she was serving for the game. She drew her racquet back, tossed the ball, surged toward it—

And missed completely.

For standing behind the fence on the opposite end of the court was Kirihara, and with him were Sayoko, Marui, and Jackal. At her embarrassing blunder, Jackal had put a hand over his mouth to hide a smile, and Marui was smirking. Even from the distance, An could see that Sayoko's eyes shone with amusement, and Kirihara—

The damn kid just _grinned _at her, and waggled his fingers in a mocking wave. She willed those fingers to spontaneously decompose.

Blushing furiously, she retrieved another ball. Having Sayoko watch was all right, but the three boys—they were _amazing _at tennis, completely beyond her. She couldn't help but feel self-conscious.

That was probably why her opponent won the point, as well as the next two. She had noticed the newly-arrived spectators as well, and the presence of three highly attractive boys seemed to have rekindled her fighting spirit, whereas it had completely thrown off An's rhythm.

_They're not here to see _you_, _she thought grumpily. _And they won't see _me _lose another point. _

Indeed, through sheer determination not to make a further idiot out of herself, she hung on to win two consecutive points, bringing the game, set, and match to a close. Rikkai, to no one's surprise, would advance as the district preliminary champion.

After all of the end-of-match rituals and niceties, she hurried over to the four, and Kirihara mimed her failed serve attempt, exaggeratedly clutching at his throat as if choking, and fell to his knees.

"Shut _up_," she snapped, trying to fight down the heat that rose in her cheeks.

"Made you nervous, did we," Marui said knowingly, blowing a bright green bubble. "At least you didn't lose the game. _That _would have been embarrassing."

"Tell me about it," Kirihara agreed, standing back up but not bothering to brush himself off. "I would have had to take off my jersey, and pretend I was from another school."

Jackal elbowed them both. "You played well, Tachibana-kun. Much better than the last time I saw you. Your forehand is really something, and your net-play was very impressive."

"The other girl's uniform was cuter, though." Everyone turned to look at Sayoko, who bristled. "I'm just _saying_." The mahogany-haired girl, for her part, wore a light gray pencil-skirt and an asymmetrical lavender top, and looked so pretty that An wanted to punch her.

Not that she was that petty, or anything.

"You're such a _girl_," the green-eyed boy accused his captain's little sister, and before Sayoko could do anything beyond stab him with an icicle of a glare, Marui broke in quickly.

"So we just figured we'd stop by—we registered early, because there was some team Yanagi wanted to be here soon enough to check out. I don't know. Sometimes I don't listen when he talks. But… yeah." He shrugged, and ruffled An's hair. She wasn't sure whether it was patronizing or merely friendly. "Congratulations on your win, Tachibana-kun. Make sure to come by _our _match later, so you can witness my genius."

On that note, he strolled away, whistling, and Jackal, sparing a slightly apologetic smile for An, went after him with longsuffering patience. Kirihara glanced between the retreating backs of his teammates and the two girls they'd left him with.

"Too much estrogen," he decided aloud, and started after the other boys, though he did pause to bump An's hip lightly with his own. She blinked at him. "You know, you _should _come watch, just so you can see some _real _tennis." His smirk did not aggravate her as much as it once had.

She beamed at him. "I would _love _to come boo you off the court. Thanks for inviting me. Ooh, and every time you miss a shot, I can do a really slow, sarcastic clap. It'll be great."

"I won't miss a single shot," he said with mock-indignation. "I can say this even more certainly than usual, since I won't even be playing today. I'm in Singles Two."

This was the supreme confidence of Rikkai—that Singles 1 and 2 players would not even have to step on the court.

Before she could retort, he loped away, his long strides easy and effortless. Two girls on the team that An's had just defeated stopped to watch.

Sayoko saw this, and said dryly, "If only they knew his personality, they wouldn't be so quick to ogle." Then she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, her face suddenly guarded. "Could you… that is... Do you think you could maybe help me with the math homework?"

An blinked a second time. A few days ago, Sayoko had gotten a bad grade on a quiz, and she'd offered to help her, but the blue-eyed girl's response had been a chilly look and a defensively sharp refusal.

The other girl looked down. "I really need to bring my grade up," she told the ground. An had to strain to hear. "My parents yelled at me again last night."

An adjusted the strap of her racquet bag. "Sure I'll help you. As long as you'll proofread my English essay."

~x~

The thing that Sayoko probably hated the most about high school tennis was that every match was best-of-three-sets. When did a one-set match become inadequate? It wasn't that she hated tennis itself—she appreciated the skill required, could admire a pretty one-handed backhand. But dear Lord, didn't these people ever grow bored of whacking a ball with a stick?

Her brother didn't, she knew. Neither, it seemed, did Tachibana An.

The two girls were sitting with the team. Her brother had requested—as if he ever really only _requested _anything—that she stick closer to him, taking into account the minor incident from the week before.

Being around her brother's teammates when they were male-posturing and throwing around sports jargon had always gotten on her nerves, but at least her math homework gave her something to do. An had been helpful, filling a whole page with example problems, every step written out.

If only she hadn't been too proud to accept help earlier, she might not have such a hole to climb out of, grade-wise…

Now Sayoko was trying a few problems on her own, while the other girl had been drawn into a debate with a few of the boys about whether it was most advantageous to be a powerful server or a skilled returner.

The chestnut-haired girl was gesticulating emphatically. Kirihara, Marui, and Jackal listened, their attention occupied by her. That they would give any weight to what a second-year _girl _thought about tennis bewildered her.

Then again, An… she could really get to you. Her presence didn't seem salient and her words weren't the most eloquent, but she could engage you in a conversation, make you open up—make you _want _to talk to her. Hell, she'd even drawn _Sanada_ into a brief discussion about flattening out a shot versus hitting with spin.

Sayoko couldn't remember the last time she and the hazel-eyed youth had said anything more substantial than "Hello" to each other.

Suddenly drained, she set her pencil down, dropping her face into her hands. She couldn't blame any of the boys, for she was getting sucked in by the other girl as well. She felt… _comfortable _when she talked to An. Like she could lighten up, loosen up.

Sure, the other girl was strong, but she was _warm _as well. Warm, and cheerful, and friendly. The kind of person everyone wanted to be around.

Next to her, Sayoko couldn't help but feel boring and gray and ignorable.

"Math can't be _that _hard, can it, that you're sitting there having a breakdown?"

She lifted her head to find Niou standing hipshot before her, one hand in his pocket, the other dangling by his side. "Niou-senpai," she said, surprised, and then: "I'm not having a breakdown. I'm taking a break. There's a difference."

"Not with you, there isn't." Idly, he cast his eyes toward An, still deep in impassioned conversation, before looking back at her. In that moment, she knew he had figured out what had her feeling so down.

How was it that she didn't understand him at all, when he saw through her so completely?

Then again, there wasn't much to see through. She was flat and flimsy, a cardboard-cutout of a girl, all attitude and nothing to back it up.

True to form, he did not try to comfort her, only said lazily, "Your brother wants you." He inclined his head toward the coach's bench, and ambled away without another word, heading off into the tournament grounds.

Sayoko sighed, a hand automatically hovering near her mouth, even though her nails were already so short they bled when she chewed on them for longer than a few moments.

Niou kept to himself a lot, often sat a little bit apart from the others at matches. Sometimes he acted like the whole world was overrated, like he could get bored talking to even his closest friends.

That was why it was so baffling when he shed that blasé demeanor, when he actually engaged her in a real conversation, the way he had a week ago. He hadn't made up myths with her since… God, she had no idea how long it'd been. Definitely before she'd gone to America.

Sitting under that pavilion with her, he had actually seemed to care what she thought, had appeared involved in what she was saying. And she figured he must have been, for Niou wasn't the type to feign interest. He didn't care enough about the feelings of others.

She knew he saw (better than anyone, she suspected, better than _any_one) that she was weak and shallow and childish, but could he still find her worth talking to, despite that?

Probably not. He'd just been in a good spirits that day—a good _mood, _as opposed to his usual indifference. Rain seemed to please him.

The blue-eyed girl stood and smoothed her skirt, before carefully picking her way through the minefield of racquets and pre-wrap and snacks that littered the bottom levels of the bleachers. She leaned over the fence. "Yes, Oniisan?" On the court, Yanagi and Yagyuu—in the early rounds like this, any doubles team could be thrown together—were making appallingly short work of Doubles 1.

He glanced up at her, and offered a small smile. Ever since their blowup in the hallway at school, they'd been treating each other with extra care and consideration, trying to overlook the tension.

_Bury it, ignore it, move past it. Try to forget, even if you can't forgive. Just smile, smile, just keep smiling, never stop smiling._

God forbid they ever talk things out or _resolve _anything.

"I was thinking that, after the match is finished, I would take you to the bookstore." He adjusted the jacket draped over his shoulders. "Would you like that? There's a new book you want, isn't there?"

Sayoko blinked at him. She vaguely recalled mentioning that an award-winning journalist had recently published her autobiography, but she hadn't thought he was _listening_, or that, if he was, he would think anything of it.

She would admit it: she often didn't give him enough credit.

"Yeah," she said, smiling faintly. "Yeah. I would really like that." To spend time with her brother, without the team, without even Sanada or Yanagi… It sounded really great.

He seemed pleased. "You can go ahead and invite Tachibana-kun, if you'd like." He inclined his head toward the chestnut-haired girl, whose debate had devolved into a shouting match with Kirihara, while Marui and Jackal looked on in amusement.

Her smile froze on her lips. Tachibana An… she honestly—she'd found that she honestly _liked _the other girl, thought they really might become friends. Lately, she'd enjoyed spending time with her.

But she couldn't help but acknowledge that the girl with the blue-gray eyes was a tennis player, and a strong person. A special person.

The kind of person Sayoko should have been.

The kind of sister that the Child of God deserved.

Said boy was still smiling at her expectantly, and she knew he was trying to make her happy. He was being a good person, a good brother, and in doing so was making her look and feel terrible.

So she returned the smile, and she said, "Sure. That would be great."

_Just keep smiling, never stop smiling._

~x~

Walking to the bookstore with the stunningly attractive Yukimura siblings, An realized: _This may not have been such a good idea._

She couldn't help but notice people noticing them, and feel plain and overlookable in comparison. Yet she knew she was pretty, had had plenty of people point it out to her. She was definitely pretty enough.

If she had Sayoko's degree of beauty, she would probably also have Sayoko's haughtiness.

(As well as her insecurity?)

Still, she was glad the other girl had invited her along—though she was almost certain it was at her brother's behest. She loved the bookstore, and she and the blue-eyed girl had been getting along surprisingly well, and…

Being around Yukimura… made her feel warm, and bright, and safe.

She slapped herself in the forehead. _That is a bad train of thought, Tachibana. That is a bad train of thought!_

Of course, the Yukimura siblings looked over when she did this, and she blushed, immediately directing her gaze toward the pavement. "I… there was a… turtle. And I couldn't believe it, so I slapped myself to make sure it was real."

"Where's the turtle now?" Sayoko asked, straight-faced.

"Uh, it ran away. Fast little devils, turtles are."

_And the award for The Absolute Worst Excuse Ever, Also Known as The Why Do You Even Bother Trying, Dude, You SUCK at Excuses, That Was Bloody Fricking Awful, Seriously, Award, goes to…_

"Indeed they are," Yukimura said, and she couldn't believe how solemn his voice could be when his eyes were that bright with mirth. Then his whole face broke out in a smile, and just like when Sayoko used the dazzle-smile—

An couldn't help smiling back.

When they got to the bookstore, she went off to the biographical section, and easily found Andre Agassi's autobiography, _OPEN_. Though it was said to lose more than a little in translation, it was still supposed to be very good.

After browsing the manga selection (where she bumped into someone, spilling their coffee on them, then stammered apologies and ran away, hoping they didn't throw volumes of _Bleach_ at her head), she went up front to pay.

Bag in hand, she stood near a table of bargain books, eyes closed. _All right, brain, this is your chance to show me you've got superpowers. I want you to point me in the direction of a young, pretty blue-eyed person, with a surname of Yukimura. Gender doesn't matter, but they'll both be Rikkai students. Okay, ready, set… go._

Randomly, she started off, and found herself in the home improvement section, without either of the Yukimura siblings in sight. _Damn it. _Once she wandered an aisle over, though, she did stumble across one of the people she sought.

Yukimura was flipping through a book on gardening. _His _superhuman powers must have been working, as before she'd come within even fifteen feet of him, he looked up, smiling slightly. "Find what you wanted?"

She showed him the autobiography. They talked about Andre Agassi, about how he was probably the greatest returner the game had ever seen, as they went for Sayoko. The mahogany-haired girl was actually in the biographical section, just in the aisle where the political ones were. That didn't surprise An. The other girl knelt on the floor, a book open on her lap, her hair spilling over her shoulder as she read.

Yukimura stopped by a display of new releases, and she paused as well. They were close enough to see his sister, but distant enough that she didn't notice them. "We'll give her a minute," the older boy suggested.

They were discussing how incredibly long Agassi's career had lasted when Yukimura visibly stopped listening, his attention on something else. An followed his gaze to see that a guy had approached Sayoko. He looked to be in college, with hipster glasses and a goatee, and he stood there trying to chat up the younger girl.

An toyed with a piece of hair. Beside her, Yukimura was not tense, exactly, but he was not at ease, either. His eyes were sharp and watchful, though he did not move to involve himself in the situation, and she soon saw why.

In response to the guy's advances, Sayoko wore an expression of such flat, unadulterated apathy that An couldn't help but be impressed. The blue-eyed girl said something shortly, then directed her attention to the book on her lap, as if she couldn't be bothered to look at him even a second longer.

The guy, clearly dismissed, just stood there for a moment, staring, before he scowled, and drifted away, plainly trying to pretend the whole thing had never happened.

To the best of An's knowledge, there were not many conflicts that Sayoko handled well, but being hit on by skeezy college guys seemed to be one of them.

She practically _felt _Yukimura relax, and released a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. Yukimura's moods (and Sayoko's, as well) could really affect those of the people around them—whether their displeasure made people tense, or their happiness made people smile.

Really, Yukimura was quite protective of his little sister. He'd involved his team in a school-wide war for her sake, and earlier that day, when they'd played the guys who had been bothering the girls a week ago…

They'd been crushed even more mercilessly than was typical. Yukimura had slotted himself for Singles 3, against the guy who had suggested Sayoko and An find better role models.

The blue-eyed captain had only bothered to invest fifteen minutes in each set, and still his opponent had ended up with the yips.

She frowned then, and the boy beside her noticed. "Is something wrong?"

An studied the carpet. It was so much easier to speak when she didn't meet those angel-blue eyes. "Yukimura-senpai, today when you played, was it—was it really _necessary _to paralyze that guy's senses like that?"

He did not say anything, so she went on. The one thing she had always prided herself on was saying how she felt, speaking up when something wasn't right. "It just—you would have won anyway, easily, without doing that. So why… I mean, I know you were angry about how he treated Sayoko, and he deserved _something_, but… I just don't… I don't think it's okay to give _anyone _the yips. I mean, it's just…

"It's not fair," she mumbled. "It's wrong."

She looked up at him—and immediately wished she hadn't. His face was set in a pleasantly neutral expression, but very still, and his eyes were hard. And she felt it like it was manifest, felt it like it was in the air she breathed—his disapproval, soft and hard and quiet and _loud_.

"That's how you feel, Tachibana-kun?" His voice was not sharp, not edged, but—there were poisons that were colorless and odorless, weren't there? She felt like it was the same sort of thing.

"I…" Those eyes pinned her, cut her up inside, made her heart drop to her stomach and her throat constrict. And she felt—she felt _small_, and stupid, and worthless. Like she had no right, no right at all, to criticize such an important part of Yukimura's tennis—of his life.

Like she had to do anything, anything at all, to make him happy with her again. "I'm sorry," she managed, hugging her arms to her chest. "I spoke out of turn. I'm really sorry, Yukimura-senpai. I didn't mean—"_ What I said _were the next words, but she _had _meant it, and even if she had to apologize for her opinion, she wouldn't lie. "I didn't mean to make you angry." That was absolutely true.

"I'm sorry," she said again, helplessly.

Yukimura tilted his head to consider her, watching her drown a moment longer—before he smiled, and just like that, the world was okay again. "I'm not angry. Please don't ever hold your tongue for my sake—you know I enjoy listening to what you have to say."

He reached out and gripped her arm for a second, his touch reassuring, before he excused himself to get Sayoko. An bit her lip, one hand coming up to brush the spot where his had been. He'd said all of that, said she could speak her mind, but—

He hadn't meant it. She was as certain of that as she was of anything. He listened to her and respected her opinion when it came to other matters, but in terms of questioning anything that he felt strongly about…

He'd made it clear that that was unacceptable.

Sayoko came up to her, book cradled in her arms, and something about the carefully blank expression on her face let An know that the other girl had witnessed at least part of the conflict.

They met each other's eyes, and in that moment, An never felt as much empathy for anyone as she did for Yukimura Sayoko.

~x~

Yukimura bought them crepes on the way back, and as An ate hers, she thought. She'd come to understand that most of Sayoko's confident smiles, cold looks, challenging stares—they were for show, just artificial constructions. Just her way of dealing with the world.

But with her brother… the hardness in his eyes, the authoritativeness of his behavior—it was all genuine. How could one person be so harsh one moment, and so wonderful the next?

"You know," she began, fishing for something to end the silence, "you guys really do look a lot alike. Sayoko, if you cut and dyed your hair, and put lifts in your shoes, and wore really baggy clothes—you could go on-court and pretend to be your brother."

"She could," Yukimura agreed, amusement coloring his words, "but the moment she forfeited the match because she broke a nail, my reputation would be ruined."

Sayoko, who had actually been chewing her nails, looked affronted. "Hey, I don't even have any nails left to break." She held up her hands for inspection.

"I know. If you don't stop chewing them, you're going to cause permanent damage."

They started bickering good-naturedly, each making sure to include An in the conversation, and she relaxed, smiling a little to herself. Being around the Yukimura siblings when they were happy was the best thing in the world. Being around them when they were unhappy…

She wasn't sure how much of that she could take.

~x~

"Hey, Kirihara?"

It was after practice on Monday, and she'd found the black-haired ace on his way to the school gates. He wasn't with any friends this time, for which she was grateful.

"What's up, Tachibana," he said flippantly, glancing at her as she fell into stride beside him. "Just couldn't stay away from me, could you?"

"I try and try, but I find myself drawn to you like a bee to honey," she deadpanned.

He smirked. "I would have gone with 'like a silly, senseless girl to the source of all that is awesome in the universe,' but hey."

She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, fighting a smile. "Or maybe 'like a hungry bear to a person lost in the woods.'"

"You want to eat me? Kinky. But I'll roll with it. Continue."

"I hate you," she laughed, and shoved him with her shoulder. He shoved back lightly. "But anyway, I—" she frowned. "Yukimura-senpai… does he ever—does he ever just look at you, and make you feel…" She struggled. "Just awful. Just really, really bad about yourself?"

The green-eyed boy looked at her for a moment, his expression… quiet, in a way. "Yeah," he said finally. "When I play bad tennis. Why, what'd you do to piss him off?"

She just shrugged, so he went on, "He pulls that on everyone, at one point or another. Even Sanada-fukubuchou and Yanagi-senpai, I think. So don't worry about it. He likes you." This last part was a bit gruff, kind of irritated, but—earnest. When she looked at him in surprise, he said quickly, "Not as much as he likes _me_, of course. But still. Who could like you better than me?"

"People with taste and common sense." Still, she couldn't help smiling at him. Kirihara… he could be rude, and arrogant, and downright _mean_ to people. But most of the time, to her…

Most of the time, he was actually pretty nice to her.

So she did what she felt the situation demanded. Grinning, she called out "Surprise trust-fall!" and let herself fall backwards towards him.

The bastard didn't catch her.

"What the _hell_?" she demanded from where she lay in a heap on the ground. Damn, that had hurt. "In case you didn't notice, that was kind of the part where you were supposed to catch me!" She glared up at him accusingly, and he stared down at her with wide, amused green eyes.

"You're so stupid. You need to _warn _me before you do that," he protested, and held out a hand to her. She took it, fuming, and he tugged her to her feet.

"Has your Japanese become as bad as your English? I _said _'surprise trust-fall!'"

"And then you just _collapsed_! That's not cool. I need more time than that." The set of his jaw was mulish.

"It's a _surprise _trust-fall! What, am I supposed to send you a memo two days in advance?"

"If you don't want to end up on your ass again," he pointed out.

"Yeah, well, see if I ever trust _you _again." They shoved each other once more, before making their way toward the school gates in comfortable silence. She watched him out of the corner of her eye, studied the person that was becoming so familiar to her—the tangle of his hair, the slope of his shoulders, the delicate lines of his collarbones.

The face that was so often smirking or laughing or grinning, and the eyes that seemed to belong in a movie, or a song, or a dream.

Finally she said, "But Kirihara…"

She looked up at him, and she smiled warmly. "Thank you."

* * *

AND THEN THEY STARTED MAKING OUT.

Hahahaaaaa. Totes lied to y'all about the tennis clinic. Next chapter, I swear. (Although I have already proven myself to be untrustworthy... ) Anyway, school's starting soon, so... -shrugs- My first priority is finding a college desperate enough to accept me.

Disclaimer: I do not own _Prince of Tennis_, or Vertical Horizon's "Everything You Want" (lyrics at the top).


	15. You Take Your Heart and Walk Away

**250 Dark Stars**

_(I'm staring at the mess I made_

_As you turn_

_You take your heart and walk away)_

…

"Teach us how to say something else," An urged. "Please."

Jackal crossed his arms, eyes cast upwards in thought. "Well… there's _fique tranquilo_. That means 'don't worry.'"

It was Sunday afternoon, a week since An had gone to the bookstore with the Yukimura siblings. Rikkai had finished its matches, and they were on a charter bus to the tennis clinic. Thirty minutes in, An had asked Jackal to teach them Brazilian Portuguese.

Sayoko bit at a fingernail. "So I could be like, '_Fique tranquilo_, only one of your hands seems likely to fall off'?"

"What about '_Fique tranquilo_, that bear isn't hungry—it already ate someone'?" An piped in.

"I can't say that I've ever heard anyone say those things specifically, but the phrase works for them." Jackal looked amused. "What else… Sayoko-chan, I taught you how to say 'Of course' a while back. Do you remember how?"

"Um," she said. "… _Queso_?"

"That's not even the right _language_," Kirihara scoffed, coming to sit behind Jackal. They'd gotten a full-size bus for only the ten of them, and there was plenty of room to move around. An felt like she was on a ship. Which didn't please her, as boats sunk. She'd seen _Titanic_, she knew what was up.

Niou, who was toward the back of the bus, called up lazily, "What with your English grades, I don't think you have any room to talk, brat."

At An's surprised look, Kirihara and Sayoko explained in unison, "Niou-senpai hears everything." Then they shot annoyed glances at each other.

"Anyway," Jackal went on, before the two could squabble, "'Of course' is _Com certeza_. It's literally 'With certainty.'"

Kirihara ran a hand through his hair, furthering the behead-look he had going on. "So if someone asked me whether I was a sexy beast, I could be like, '_Com certeza_'?"

"No. No you couldn't," Sayoko deadpanned.

"If someone asked you whether you're delusional, you could say that," An offered helpfully, and the green-eyed boy reached across the aisle to bonk her on the head. She took the opportunity to yank one of his curls.

Marui, passing by to get a snack from the cooler in the back of the bus, swatted them both. "Settle down, kids. Don't make me turn this bus around."

They subsided.

A few minutes later, An pulled out her coloring-book. She'd bought it a few days ago—it had pictures of fairies, and it was _awesome_. Only after some searching, she realized she'd forgotten crayons. She supposed she could give herself a paper-cut and color with blood, but…

She stood slightly to look over the seat, to where Sayoko sat, reading a thick book. "Hey, Sayoko? You don't happen to have any crayons, do you?"

"Oh," said the mahogany-haired girl, setting the volume aside. "Yeah, actually." From her bag, she produced a sixty-four-pack. _With the sharpener._

"_Dude_. Why do you…?"

Looking pretty embarrassed, Sayoko again went through her bag, pulling out her own coloring-book. It was dinosaur-themed.

The chestnut-haired girl said solemnly, "I have never felt closer to you."

~x~

Sanada rubbed his eyes. They'd been on the bus for hours—it was evening, and everyone else was asleep. He himself had just woken up.

Earlier he'd moved to the back of the bus because it was quieter. After shifting somewhat, he was falling back asleep when quiet footsteps approached. He opened his eyes, sitting up straighter to find Sayoko walking back to get something from the cooler.

At his sudden movement, she started, eyes going wide, and took a hasty step backwards, almost tripping over the seat in the aisle across from him. "Sanada-senpai! I didn't know you were—sorry."

"There's no need to apologize." She regarded him uncertainly for a moment, before walking past to get a bottle of water from the cooler. She seemed weary, in more ways than one.

Sanada pinched the bridge of his nose. When Sayoko was out of sorts, her brother was stressed, and when her brother was stressed, the whole team suffered. From this line of thought came the quiet, reluctant question:

"Are you all right?"

The girl paused, already on her way back up to the front. At length she replied, "Of course I am. Thank you for your concern." And then she walked away.

That she would not share her feelings with him was unsurprising. They'd never been close. After years of knowing them, Sayoko's bonds with her brother's teammates were still tenuous. She talked to Marui to some extent, and…

Niou. Of all of them, she was closest to Niou Masaharu, and if that wasn't paradoxical, Sanada didn't know what was.

When Yukimura was hospitalized, Sayoko would not go to see him, and Sanada had felt such incredulity, such contempt for her—what kind of person would not visit their own brother? How selfish and spiteful could she be?

And so it had been very problematic when he realized that part of taking care of things until Yukimura returned meant taking care of his brat of a sister as well.

For a few days, he'd tried to look out for her, to walk her home, but it had never ended well. Already strained by Yukimura's condition, he would get so fed up with the girl's behavior that he would snap at her, and she would dissolve into a fit of tears or temper, oftentimes both.

He'd been taken aback when Niou took over for him—walking Sayoko home, poking and prodding her into talking about how she was feeling. With regards to the other boy's less than benevolent, nurturing character, Sanada had approached him about it.

Niou had looked at him for a long moment, his face unreadable, before: "This is all I can do."

Somehow, Sanada had understood that he was talking about the state of the team in Yukimura's absence. Niou could not (would not) raise people's spirits like Marui or Kirihara, or provide stability like Yanagi and Jackal, or ease tensions like Yagyuu. Could not would not manage the team like Sanada.

The silver-haired boy had gone on slowly, "If I can keep a sad little blue-eyed girl from crying quite so much…" He'd shrugged, looked away. "That's my contribution."

To Sanada, it had seemed like the very worst responsibility to shoulder, but—

Niou had always seen something in Sayoko that the rest of the world didn't.

~x~

"Here are the water bottles," An said the next day, setting the case by the coach's feet. He spared her a vague smile, his attention on the match taking place. Kirihara was playing Hyotei's Shishido, and according to the scoreboard, had already taken the first set at a convincing 6 – 2.

He really was different when playing seriously, she mused, pausing to watch. Focused and intent, but with the corners of his mouth quirked up. He was having fun.

"A good match, isn't it?"

She turned to see Fuji, who was part of the same group as Kirihara and Shishido. Like the other boys, he wore black athletic pants and a red jersey. An, along with the other female volunteers, was dressed in a red skort and a white shirt.

"Fuji-kun," she smiled. "How are you?" He'd gotten up too early for her to eat breakfast with him, and so she'd sat with Momoshiro, Kikumaru, and a couple others.

"I'm doing well, thank you." He was standing along the fence, a little way away from the other group members. "How are things at Rikkai?"

"Yellow," she said lightly, and his eyes curved. "I need to go bring towels to another group, but I'll talk to you later, 'kay?"

He bid her a pleasant goodbye, and as she walked away, she caught Kirihara's eye while he was changing courts. They made faces at each other, before she nodded to the scoreboard and gave him a thumb's up. In response, he swaggered exaggeratedly over to the baseline, and she couldn't help but laugh.

~x~

Sayoko was pretty sure that "volunteer" was synonymous with "slave." She'd only agreed to come to the stupid thing to please her brother—God knew she couldn't allow their relationship to deteriorate further. She supposed it was preferable to being in school, but still.

An, conversely, seemed to be having a great time. She knew practically everyone. Had Sayoko been _half _as friendly as the other girl, her life would have been far easier.

Lugging a crate of tennis balls, she told herself a story. "Once upon a time there was a princess who lived in a kingdom of tennis-obsessed freaks. Her brother was the king, and one day he decided to sell his sister into slavery so that the kingdom could afford… grip-tape, or maybe a trampoline.

"So the princess found herself working her life away for an evil witch. The witch turned the princess into a wombat, and everything the princess-wombat touched turned into a spoon. This terrible curse could only be broken by—"

"Mumbling to yourself is terribly plebeian, you know."

Sayoko jumped, and ten or so tennis balls fell out of the crate, rolling onto the grass. She set the whole thing down, turning to find a boy her brother's age watching her with a raised eyebrow. It took her a moment, but she recognized him as Hyotei's captain, Atobe.

"Startling people is also quite plebeian," she returned crossly, sinking to her knees to clean up the mess she'd made. He'd interrupted her story, but it had gotten wildly off-track, anyway.

He just continued watching her, a towel around his neck. "I can only assume that you're Yukimura's younger sister. You have his eyes."

She rolled them. "We have our father's eyes." And then, acting on manners that had been beaten into her: " My name is Yukimura Sayoko. It's nice to meet you." She was lying.

Well, not about her name. But still.

"I am Atobe Keigo," he told her grandly. "It's doubtless that you have heard much about me from your brother." She had, but the references were often accompanied by good-humored slights about the other boy's arrogance. She now understood why.

When she didn't respond, he went on, "You must know Tachibana An."

"I know her." An really seemed to get around. She stood up, hefting the crate over her shoulder once again, and was surprised when he stepped forward to take it from her. "Thank you, but—I can carry it. It's my job." Unfortunately.

"To allow you to carry this would be disgraceful," he said dismissively, striding off toward the courts directly ahead of them, and it occurred to her that his chivalry was born of lofty self-importance, rather than actual concern or goodwill.

But as long as she didn't have to carry the damn thing…

"At any rate," he continued as Sayoko trotted to catch up, "how is An-chan doing at your school? I'll confess I was quite surprised to hear that she had transferred, and to _Rikkai _of all places."

"Why is that surprising? What's wrong with Rikkai?" They beat Hyotei every year…

Atobe looked at her askance, one corner of his mouth upturned in amusement. "Are you not aware of the history Tachibana An has with your school?" They'd arrived at the courts, and he set the crate down, brushing imaginary dirt off his sleeves.

"What history?" Had she been expelled for being too damned well-liked?

He lifted a shoulder in an elegant shrug. "I suppose it's none of my business, is it." Then he smirked. "I would let you shake my hand as a parting gesture, but I'd rather not turn into a spoon, if it's all the same to you." With that, he strolled away.

She blushed, but at least managed to refrain from physically cringing. He'd heard her story. Shit shit shit shit shit.

This group's members (Atobe included) were in the middle of a water break, and Marui and Niou came up to her—the former to tug on a lock of her hair, and the latter to use her head as an armrest. She didn't think anyone else in the world led a life as undignified as hers.

"What was that all about?" Marui wanted to know, smacking his gum. He inclined his head toward Atobe, who had pulled aside the coach and seemed to be recommending a new training regimen. The adult did not look thrilled. "Why are you blushing?"

At their expectant looks, she turned even redder. "I'm not. And—nothing. It was nothing. Hyotei's Atobe-san…" She shook her head. "He's… wow." What was it about tennis, that attracted such outrageous people?

"You can say that again," Marui grinned, and went to get more water. Niou remained with her, though he did at least stop doing his condescending armrest thing, if only so he could step back to regard her.

"Tired, huh."

She blinked, and admitted, "Yeah." She'd never been able to sleep in a moving vehicle, and always had tremendous difficulty sleeping well in new places. Still, she thought she'd been doing a decent job of hiding it.

Niou noticed a lot about her. It didn't mean much—he was just astonishingly perceptive, it wasn't like he paid much attention to her—and he hardly ever acted on anything or expressed real concern, but… it was still nice that he noticed.

"I bet Niou-senpai doesn't ever sleep," she said, smiling slightly. "Too busy thinking."

"There's some truth to that," he said casually, and her eyes widened. Was he actually disclosing something personal? To _her_? "I have insomnia sometimes. Doctor has me on Ambien."

Her eyes grew bigger. "Niou-senpai!" She gripped his arm. "Do you know how much that stuff messes you up? There are studies—"

"Relax," he said, smiling a little. He brushed her hand away. "Calm down, sweetie. I only take it when I really need it. Think I've grown immune to it, anyway."

Sayoko looked at him doubtfully. "If you die an early death, Rikkai will be short a starter, and Oniisan will be _pissed_."

"Thank you for your concern," he said solemnly, and made a shooing motion one would use with a small child. "Run along, now." The water break was ending, and he turned to follow his group onto the courts without as much as another glance at her.

She exhaled noisily. Just when he was treating her as something close to an equal, he had to go and be patronizing.

~x~

Shitenhouji had one male and one female volunteer, and the latter kept flirting with Yukimura. It kind of maybe really pissed An off. But only a little bit. She _liked _the other girl. Her name was Harada, and she was nice. And if it had been because the other volunteer was head over heels for Yukimura, An couldn't really blame her.

But Harada flirted with _everyone_, and with Yukimura to an excessive extent. The blue-eyed boy bore her attentions with grace, but indicated absolutely no interest. Which made it better, but—still.

She was still muddling through her own feelings for him. He could make her feel great, and he could make her feel like crap. It was baffling, and stressful, and overwhelming, and…

She wasn't sure she liked who she was around him, sometimes. The girl that stammered and backtracked and apologized, desperate for his forgiveness, for his approval. It made her feel shameless, and small-minded, and just… small.

Really, he didn't treat her like a peer. And she wasn't—she was a year younger than him. But… he was very… indulgent. Like he was humoring her. He _did _seem to respect her, though, on some level. It was all very perplexing, and thinking about it made her head hurt.

That didn't mean she could just stop on-demand, though. The next morning, she brought up the subject of Harada with Sayoko, and the blue-eyed girl shrugged. They were in their room before going down to breakfast. "Harada-san? She's not really Oniisan's type, I don't think."

"What _is _his type?" An tried not to sound too invested in the matter.

"Uh… I don't know. I don't really—" Sayoko ran a hand through her hair. "His only real girlfriend was Okada-senpai. She was smart. They talked about art, I think."

"Huh." An wasn't a big art person, though she did enjoy coloring. Which reminded her—she pulled a folded piece of paper out of her pocket. "I tore out a page of my coloring-book. This fairy looks a lot like Sanada-senpai, don't you think?"

Sayoko smiled wickedly. "Well, yeah, but that might be because you drew a black cap on her head, and made it so that she's scowling. Though the resemblance is startling, yes."

An grinned. "I know, right? The flowers woven through her hair just _scream _Sanada-senpai."

"Oh, definitely. And that flow-y pink dress, I'm sure he owns one just like it." The mahogany-haired girl's smile grew wider. "You should give this to him."

"Oh my God he would _murder _me," An laughed. "They would find my body with the picture crumpled up and stuffed in my mouth. _You _should give it to him."

"What, 'cause _I _wanna die? No thanks." They bickered, and decided that slipping it under the door to his room would be the best option. He would know it was from one of them, but not which.

So each had a fifty-fifty chance of survival. The odds were good.

After eating breakfast (Sayoko had eaten with her brother, An with her Seigaku friends), the two girls cut through one of the courtyards on their way to get the water bottles. Sitting on a bench was Niou, apparently unaware of them.

An was prepared to walk by, but Sayoko stopped. "Niou-senpai. He's upset."

"What?" The chestnut-haired girl did a double-take, expecting him to have burst into tears while she'd been looking away, but— "He looks fine." Blasé as usual.

"He's upset," the other girl insisted, bringing a hand to her mouth, though An doubted she had any fingernails left to chew.

"How can you tell?"

The blue-eyed girl just shook her head. "I'll catch up with you later, okay?"

An looked at her for a moment, then shrugged. "Okay."

~x~

"Niou-senpai," Sayoko said, approaching to stand before him. "Niou-senpai, what's wrong?" To have him be the one who was troubled… it was strange. She noticed his phone on the bench beside him. "Did someone call you? Is there bad news?"

He rubbed his face, his body language sending a strong leave-me-alone vibe. Normally she would have, but… "Not now, sweetheart. Go play."

"Don't be like that," she frowned. "I know something's bothering you. You can tell me what it is."

His smirk was disdainful and fond at the same time, and he said lowly, "Sweetie, if something _was _bothering me, you'd be the last person I'd go to."

And… and _damn_, if that didn't hurt.

Except… "I can't blame you for that," she admitted, and sunk down to crouch in front of him. Too embarrassed to look at him, she kept her eyes on her interlaced fingers. She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again. Haltingly, she tried to tell him how she felt.

"I know… that I'm not strong. I know that I cry a lot, and always need other people to help me. I know that there's really… not much I can do for you. But even so… I _want _to. Because… you've always been there. For me. You don't do always much. But you're _there_, and sometimes—sometimes you even act like you care.

"I know it's not much, and that it probably doesn't mean anything to you… but it does to me. It—it means a lot to me. I haven't done a good job of showing it, but… I'm really grateful. I owe you a lot.

"And so, please… I want to help you." She looked up at him. "Please, Niou-senpai, let me help you. Please tell me what's wrong."

For the longest time, he just looked at her, head cocked slightly to the left, as if he didn't quite know what to make of her. Her heart in her throat, Sayoko held her breath. And then finally—

He shook his head.

She bit her lip, appalled to feel the hot sting of tears. She nodded then, slowly and acceptingly, and stood, walked away before the tears could fall.

~x~

An ate dinner, again with her friends from Seigaku, and afterwards lingered to talk with Kamio. They'd dated during their third year of junior high, but she'd broken it off after a month. She just hadn't been that attracted to him.

Still, they'd remained friendly, and he was updating her on how his family was doing when he trailed off. Before she could ask what was wrong, he said, "You know, An-chan… I think your brother would be pretty disappointed in you."

"… What?"

"You know." He shrugged. They were outside the main building, on the grass. The sun was setting. "Cozying up to the Rikkai guys. I just feel like it's kind of an insult to Tachibana-san."

She stared. "I… what? I'm not—not _cozying up to_—what the hell?"

Kamio waved a hand. She understood, distantly, that he wasn't trying to hurt her. That he didn't see how his words had struck a chord, had stabbed at a sore spot. "To be close to that bastard Kirihara… it's like you don't even care about what he did to your brother."

"_Hey_. I care about my brother more than anything," she snapped. "And don't talk about Kirihara like that. He's—" Meeting the red-haired boy's eyes, the words got stuck in her throat, but she forced them out. "He's my friend, okay?"

"Are you _kidding_?" Kamio made a strangled noise. "How could you possibly—"

A door opened, and they whirled to find Kirihara himself stepping outside. Was he looking for her? At their expressions, he raised his eyebrows, and loped over to stand beside An.

"You partying out here all by yourself?" he asked her, bumping her hip with his. "That's kind of lame. You're lucky I came out when I did."

"Don't just ignore me, you asshole," Kamio fumed, hands tightly fisted.

Kirihara cast him a derisive look. "Why not ignore you? It's not like you could have anything interesting or useful to say. Do us a favor and beat it, will you?"

"Guys," An muttered, but Kamio interrupted, all but spitting venom.

"I swear to God, Kirihara, you are the most arrogant, hateful son of a bitch I've ever met." Kirihara sneered, looking like he wished the other boy would throw the first punch so that he could then proceed to cheerfully beat the shit out of the redhead.

"Am I? You must not get out much, Kamio."

"_Guys,_" An said again, almost shouting, and this time they looked at her. "Just shut up, okay? Just—_God, _why can't you even—" She shook her head, threw her hands in the air. "Whatever. You know what? Whatever."

She stormed off, away from the building, and was not surprised to hear someone follow her. She quickened her pace, but still a hand closed around her arm.

"Hey," said Kirihara, tugging her to a halt. "Hey. Don't be upset. Whatever that loser said to you, it's not worth—"

"Can you just leave me alone for a minute?" she bit out, pulling away. "I just—need to be alone." Her brother… would he really be angry that she'd made friends at Rikkai? Would—

"_Why?_" Kirihara frowned at her, his hair falling in his eyes. "Don't even think about whatever that loser said to you. It can't have been anything important."

"It's not about what he—I mean, it is, but—" She stamped her foot. "And don't talk about him like that! He's my friend."

"You can't be serious. Look," he said dismissively, "obviously you feel some sentimental attachment or whatever to your old school and the people there, but you should just get over it already. You're way better off without them."

He clearly meant what he said, seemed to honestly believe that she could just forget about all the people she'd left behind. And for a while… she really had. The people she'd met at Rikkai were so interesting, so outstanding, that she found little time for nostalgia.

But. "It doesn't _work _like that. They're my friends. They won't stop being my friends just because I moved."

He smirked at her, arms crossed over his chest. "Yeah, well, _I'm _your friend, right? And as your friend, I'm telling you that coming here just so you can ignore us and relive the good old days with your little buddies is obnoxious."

By "us," he must have meant Rikkai. And at first she gaped at him, but… it was true. They hadn't been at the clinic long, but most of the time she'd spent there, she'd spent with her old friends. She'd hung out with Sayoko some, but otherwise…

She'd figured it only made sense to take the opportunity to see the people she'd missed. But it had been kind of insensitive. To Kirihara, it might have seemed like she was deliberately spurning him, favoring the company of others over his.

Had she… hurt him?

An met his eyes, but—he didn't look hurt. He looked annoyed, and somewhat scornful. Not hurt, but _hurtful_. Only a minute ago he'd told her not to be upset, but now it seemed he would very much like to give her something to be upset about.

She wouldn't give him that satisfaction, but—she still owed him an apology. He'd caught her in the wrong again. Funny how he did that. "Kirihara," she said quietly. "Kirihara, I—"

He didn't give her a chance. "I just don't _get _it," he went on, uncrossing his arms to gesture conceitedly with his hands. "I mean, what do you _see _in them? Kamio, Momoshiro, whoever. They're so dumb, and dull. Wastes of air."

He was just being a dick, she told herself, trying to control her temper. Just trying to hurt her the way she suspected she had hurt him. She had to keep that in mind, not play into his games. "Stop being a jerk, okay? I _know _you can be nice."

"_Nice_," he sneered. "Is that why you like those losers? 'Cause they're _nice_?" He adopted a thoughtful expression. "I guess they've gotta have _something_going for them. I mean, God knows they're boring as hell, and they _suck _at tennis—"

"Stop talking like that," she said heatedly. There went her temper. "Just because you can beat someone at tennis doesn't mean you're _better _than them."

"Actually, it does." He stepped closer to work his height advantage. "Thanks for all the self-righteous wisdom you're trying to preach, but I'm gonna go right ahead and think I'm better than all those losers, if it's all the same to you."

She lifted her chin to meet his eyes squarely.

"You can beat me at tennis," she said quietly. "Do you think you're better than me?" He blinked at her, drew back a bit, and she went on, "Do you see me the same way you see my friends? Do you look down on me as well?

"Do you think you're better than me?"

He stared at her, frowning. "I," he said, and cut himself off, as if waging some mental battle, fighting some inner demon. Deliberating over what to say. Then he glared at her with those hurtfully green eyes, glared at her accusingly, resentfully.

"You… " he tried again, but—he shouldn't have had to try.

An's smile was grim. "There's my answer, I guess." Her heart heavy and hard, she turned and walked back toward the building, and this time, he did not follow.

* * *

Parachute's "The Mess I Made" played the entire time I was writing the last two scenes. _Two hours_ on repeat, people. Oh, and Seigaku bores me too much for me to actually write about the time An spent with them. lulz.

Disclaimer: I do not own _Prince of Tennis_, or Parachute's "The Mess I Made" (lyrics at the top).


	16. There's No Turning Back for Us Tonight

**250 Dark Stars**

_(Walk with me_

_Come and walk with me_

_To the edge of all we've ever known)_

…

"You look really tired," An told Sayoko later that night, as they worked on schoolwork in their room. Most everyone else was in the game room. "I can go do this somewhere else, so you can sleep."

"That's all right," the other girl replied, without looking up from what she was writing. "I wouldn't be able to sleep even if I went to bed."

They worked silently for a few more minutes, until: "Sayoko? What was bothering Niou-senpai today, anyway?"

The blue-eyed girl stiffened, her mouth thinning, and An expected to get snapped at. Instead there was a long pause, before Sayoko admitted quietly, "I don't know. He wouldn't tell me."

"Oh." Given Niou's nature, this didn't surprise An, but Sayoko seemed pretty upset about it. "Well… you shouldn't really take that personally, should you? I mean, he's Niou-senpai."

"Yeah," the other girl agreed, eyes downcast. "He is."

An searched for something to make her feel better. "Still, he talks to you a lot. More than he does to most people. That's… I don't know. I think you should feel good about that."

For the first time, the mahogany-haired girl looked up, and those blue eyes were steady. "And how do _you _feel? After whatever happened between you and Kirihara earlier. He's been sulking ever since."

Sayoko was probably just trying to change the subject, but—An glanced away. "I'm fine. I don't want to talk about it."

The other girl did not press, though whether this was out of respect for her, or just self-absorption, An wasn't sure. But after a moment she did ask, "Did you have anything to do with Rikkai, before you transferred? Someone mentioned something…"

The chestnut-haired girl hesitated. "Uh, well… back in junior high, my older brother's team played your brother's. I mean, Yukimura-senpai was hospitalized at the time, but still." Sayoko paled.

"But anyway… we lost really bad. Kirihara played my brother, and he… he hurt him, purposely. Put him in the hospital." She rubbed the arm the he'd grabbed earlier that night—_Hey. Hey. Don't be upset._

He'd looked at her so earnestly…

Sayoko said nothing, but An found herself looking for someone to assuage her doubts, to tell her Kamio had been wrong. She began, "One of my brother's old teammates… he said my brother would be disappointed in me. For being friends with Kirihara.

"Do you think that's true?"

The blue-eyed girl touched her fingertips to her lower lip. "Well… I don't know your brother. Um, obviously, I guess. But… what happened—it was a couple years ago, right? So…" She shrugged. "So yeah. And… Kirihara shouldn't have done what he did, but… I think—that you two are friends. That you get along well, and that he cares about you." She gave another little shrug.

"I think your brother would be happy that you found someone like that."

An blinked. That Sayoko, self-absorbed as she was, would think those things… it meant something. But… "He kind of admitted that he thinks he's better than me. Kirihara. That he looks down on me."

Sayoko's smile was rueful. "Don't I know that feeling."

~x~

"Try to focus, Sayoko-chan. We're almost finished."

"Sorry, Yagyuu-senpai. I'm just tired." They were going over student council things during breakfast. Some parts were cool, but mostly it was excruciatingly tedious.

He made a faint noise of sympathy, and directed her attention to a specific form. She took a look at it, and asked wistfully, "Do you ever wish you were a squid?"

"Been waiting my whole life for someone to ask me that," drawled Niou, dropping into the seat beside Yagyuu. Whatever had been bothering him the day before seemed to trouble him no more—or else he was concealing it better.

"Why do you ask?" Yagyuu inquired, smiling faintly.

Sayoko blushed, ducking her head so that her hair spilled forward to veil her face. She'd laid her feelings bare before Niou, and he might as well have crushed them under his heel. To find that his opinion of her was _that _low… it felt terrible. She never wanted to make herself that vulnerable to anyone ever again.

"It's stupid," she mumbled. "Just—if you were a squid, you wouldn't have to deal with paperwork. 'Cause you wouldn't have opposable thumbs." She paused. "And also because squids don't have to do paperwork just because they're squids, I guess. That's all." She reached for her cup, but Niou grabbed it first.

He inspected it, raised an eyebrow, and handed it back to her. "You hate coffee."

"I'm aware," she said, her tone cool, and he smirked. He talked with Yagyuu about the schedule for that day, before getting up and strolling away. Watching him go, Sayoko said quietly, "Niou-senpai… he seems okay."

She hated that this relieved her so much, when he, in turn, didn't give a damn about her. And why would he?

Yagyuu's expression was all polite neutrality. She had no idea what he was thinking or feeling. "Yesterday he received some news, that's all. A family matter, nothing drastic. Don't worry about Niou-kun."

"Why would she be worried about Niou?" her brother asked, coming to sit beside her. He went to drink from her cup, saw its contents, and frowned. "You hate coffee."

_It's super awesome how even my own brother thinks I'm too dumb to know what I like or dislike. _"I'm just drinking it for the caffeine."

He seemed about to ask why, but then his eyebrows drew together. Placing a finger under her chin, he angled her face, probably examining the circles under her eyes.

Yagyuu excused himself.

Once the other boy was gone, her brother said lowly, "I forgot it's difficult for you sleep in unfamiliar places." Then he paused, mouth going thin. "Actually… I remembered. I only thought—" He shook his head. "I don't know what I thought. That the problem would go away just to suit me."

"It's okay," Sayoko mumbled. _Just as long as you're not still angry at me._ "I wanted to come." At his wry expression, she smiled a little. "More than I wanted to be in school without you or An, anyway."

He nodded slowly. "I wanted you here with me because I didn't want you at school alone. Not with all things considered."

Sayoko thought about it. A full week without the protection of the tennis team, or even Tachibana An… she winced, biting a fingernail—until her brother smacked her hand gently.

"Stop chewing your nails." He said it archly, in his best big-brother voice.

She stuck her tongue out at him, and gave his hand a light smack in return. The situation devolved, only ending when he restrained her by holding both her wrists in one hand.

"Well?" he asked wickedly, and used his free hand to poke her forehead. "What are you going to do now?"

She scowled at him.

~x~

"All this work must be hard on them," Sakuno murmured, her eyes on the groups that were running laps around the grounds. She and An were picking up the tennis balls that carpeted the courts.

"Cleaning up after them is hard on us," the chestnut-haired girl countered. "If we're here doing all these menial tasks for them, the least they can do is work hard. They _better _be running their asses off." Also, they should all pitched in to buy her a pet.

"What do you think a good name for a dolphin would be?" she asked once they were on their way to deliver water to other groups.

Sakuno blinked. "Um… Dolphin-san…?"

"Dolphin-san? Is that your nickname?" A boy An recognized as Tooyama Kintarou bounded up to her, bending down to peer at her face. He frowned. "You don't look like a dolphin."

She nodded agreeably. "Yeah, I get that a lot."

"You're lucky she didn't take that the wrong way, Kin-chan." The three turned to find Chitose Senri. He nodded good-naturedly to Sakuno, and smiled at An. "Got an email from your brother. Sounds like he's doing well."

She concealed a wince. Her brother had emailed her over a week ago, but she had yet to reply. "Yeah, he's establishing a really good win-loss record." She paused. This boy had once been like a second brother to her, but was now a familiar stranger.

Kintarou drew back, apparently bored with the conversation. "I'm gonna go see what the other groups are doing." He ran off.

Sakuno smiled. "Tooyama-kun is as energetic as ever."

"There would be something wrong if he weren't." With a wry smile, Chitose followed his teammate, and the girls continued on their way. Once they'd set down the water bottles, An pulled out her phone. She told Sakuno she'd catch up soon, and moved close to the main building for better service. Her brother answered right before it went to voicemail.

"_An?_" His voice was muffled, kind of slurred. "_What is it? Is everything okay? It's five a.m. here."_

"Oh," she said, and then, her heart sinking: "Oh, God, I'm sorry. I didn't think of the time difference, I just—God, I'm so sorry, Oniichan. Do you have a match tomorrow, or today, or whatever?"

"_I do_," he told her wearily, with an undercurrent of annoyance, faint but still detectable. He was somewhere in western Europe—she forgot where exactly. "_An important one. Is something wrong? We're racking up long-distance bills…_"

She swallowed. "No, nothing's wrong. I just—I just thought I'd call…" she said weakly. "But I—yeah. Yeah, everything's fine. I'll let you go back to sleep. Good luck with your match. I'm really sorry I woke you."

"_It's all right. Goodbye, An._"

"Bye," she whispered, and ended the call, feeling sick to her stomach. All she'd wanted was to talk to him, reconnect, but—what if he lost his match because she'd disturbed his sleep?

At that moment, Yukimura stepped out of the building, and found her standing there, phone clutched to her chest. "Are you all right?"

"Fine, thank you," she said automatically. "It's all good. Are _you_ okay?" His right wrist was bound in green pre-wrap. He must have just come from the infirmary.

"Yes, I'm fine. The wrap is more precautionary than anything." She believed him—tennis players always needed something or other wrapped. "Was that your brother on the phone?" She blinked at him, and he smiled slightly. "An educated guess."

"I," she started. "I… that is…" Yukimura just waited, expression expectant but not unsympathetic, and she found herself confessing, "I feel like I'm growing apart from my brother. He's the one that left, but—I haven't tried to keep in touch. And the awful part is, until just recently… that didn't even _bother _me, really. I think about him, but not a lot. I miss him, but—not nearly as much as I should.

"And _that_… just makes me miss him so bad it hurts," she said softly. "It's… hard. Being all by yourself." Without her brother to listen and pat her head and offer advice. Without having someone around who would always care about her.

"Of course," said Yukimura, firmly but not unkindly. "That's the way it is. If not, what would you need friends for, or teammates?"

He didn't wait for the answer she didn't have.

"Even so," he went on, gaze direct and blue, "I'd say you're doing pretty well, for being all by yourself."

She looked up at him with large eyes, and saw that a smile lurked at the corners of his mouth, in the curve of his lips. He put a hand on her shoulder, and with a moment of gentle pressure, urged her to walk toward the courts.

An complied, expecting herself to blush at the contact, anticipating the singing of her nerves. Instead, she just felt… warm. Warm, and safe, and happy. The warmth burned up her anxieties over her brother, at least for the time being.

Yukimura retracted his hand, his longer legs bringing him a little ahead of her, and they walked in silence for a short while. And then: "Thank you."

"… You're welcome?"

He looked like he wanted to smile, but maintained a straight face. "I've meant to tell you that for a while. Thank you, for what you've done for Sayoko. She's…" He paused, eyelids lowering. "She's been more relaxed, lately. Perhaps not necessarily _happier_…

"But less unhappy, at least. So, thank you."

"Oh," she said. "Oh. I… I can't take credit for that. I haven't really done anyth—" The look he gave her cut her off mid-word. Yukimura, polite as he was, still didn't seem to like wasting time with certain aspects of socially-demanded behavior.

So she smiled, and she said, "You're welcome."

~x~

Momoshiro served—better than Marui had anticipated, and the redhead could only hit a rally-ball, not an approach-shot. That was bad. Getting sucked into a baseline-rally with Momoshiro would not end well for him. He'd known that before even starting the match, and still the lesson had been rehashed numerous times over the past two hours.

Still, he hung on, dealing well enough with the younger boy's power, and waited for his chance. All he needed was an opening… a miss-hit, or a stumble… a moment of indecision… There!

Momoshiro's last shot did not have quite the usual force behind it, and Marui took it early, lassoing it cross-court and following it in to the net, where he split-stepped, reached the other boy's return—

And used the Miracle Skills. The other boy didn't even try for the ball—there was no point.

"Game, set, match!" the referee called out. "Marui wins, 6 – 4, 4 – 6, 7 – 5."

They shook hands, guarded but without ill-will. "Nice game, Marui-san," the black-haired boy conceded. "You got me."

"That I did," Marui said archly, "but you played well." He exited the court, grabbing his racquet bag and water bottle on the way out. Taking a seat on a bench, he drank greedily.

Niou ambled up to toss him a towel, and sat beside him, slouching down low.

"'Sup," Marui said, and nodded thanks, using the towel to wipe his face and neck.

"'Sup, indeed," the taller boy drawled. "That Momoshiro almost had you in the third game of the final set, didn't he?"

"Please. I only let him get close to breaking my serve to make things interesting. For the drama of it all." He was lying, of course, but still—he thrived off of drama. In the performance that was tennis, showmanship was his tool.

Niou just scoffed. The silver-haired boy appreciated drama, Marui knew, but of a different sort. The shock registering on an opponent's face when they realized they'd been duped. The despair that manifested when they realized that, when playing Niou, they weren't just playing tennis, but a whole other game entirely.

One where even 6 – 0, 6 – 0 on the scoreboard would not express all the levels on which they would lose.

Still, that was tennis-drama. Marui wasn't so keen on real-life drama. It was his last year of high school, for Chrissake—he wanted to enjoy himself, and get into a good university. He wanted his tennis career to peak with a last National championship win, clean and well-deserved and uncomplicated.

Thinking in this vein, he said to Niou, "Hey, maybe treat Sayoko-chan a little better, yeah? For everyone's sake."

Niou raised his eyebrows. "What are you babbling about _now_?" On the court, Atobe and Shiraishi warmed up for a match.

Marui took another long drink. "Drama."

"Oh, well, thanks for elucidating," the silver-haired boy deadpanned. "Seriously, you should go into education. I think you could really get through to students, clear up any questions they might have. I'd love to hear your dissertation on the meaning of life."

"What I mean," the redhead began, his nonchalant tone masking his sincerity, "is that we've already had enough drama this year. With Sayoko-chan, and the soccer team, and everything. I mean, it's been fun, having people to pull pranks on, but—"

He shrugged. "It's gotten out of hand. And as long as it goes on, as long as Sayoko-chan's still falling apart on a weekly basis, Yukimura's gonna be freaked out—in a Yukimura-way—and so Sanada will go all Nazi death-march on our asses.

"Add that to Akaya being all crazy over little Tachibana An, and tennis just got a whole lot more stressful." He paused thoughtfully. "Was going somewhere with this… Right! Yeah. I'm just saying, you could do us all a big favor by just taking better care of Sayoko-chan."

Niou lifted a shoulder in a careless shrug. "Sayoko isn't my responsibility. She's Yukimura's."

A corner of Marui's mouth quirked up. "You want to know what I think?"

"What do _you _think?" the silver-haired boy smirked, seeming entertained by the prospect.

The violet-eyed boy spoke frankly, aware that Niou was not easily offended. "I think you made her your responsibility while Yukimura was sick, and realized you actually kind of like taking care of someone other than yourself for once. But only when it suits you, of course, and therein lies the problem.

"You're around for her enough that she depends on you, but you don't do enough for her to actually feel better or work out her problems. You want her adoration, her gratitude, but not the time and effort involved in actually helping her. You're there for her out of your own selfishness.

"I don't think you even _want _her to grow up, or stop needing you."

Niou said nothing, his face unreadable even to someone who knew him as well as Marui.

"So…" the redhead finished, exhaling breezily. "So yeah. I guess I'm saying—either cut her loose so she can depend on and look up to someone who cares about her for her own sake, or…"

He shrugged. "Step up your game."

~x~

That night, An's phone beeped. She reached for it, mumbling, but misjudged the distance to the bedside table, and ended up banging her forehead against the corner of it. Muttering a filthy word, she rubbed at the abrasion with one hand, using the other to grab her phone. In the bed a couple feet away, Sayoko tossed and turned.

A text from Kirihara read: **meet me outside**

She stared at it, read it twice. It was _expressly _against the rules to be out of one's assigned room after lights-out. For a boy and a girl to sneak out together… if they got caught…

An cringed, but—the clinic was geared toward the best athletes in the nation, and by extension the most dedicated. As such, the staff didn't find strict supervision necessary. They clearly felt assured that the participants wouldn't dream of jeopardizing their chances by getting in trouble.

They obviously hadn't taken Kirihara Akaya into account.

An bit her lip. What could he possibly _want_? Didn't he realize he'd hurt her, that she was angry at him? Did he want to have a second go, see if he could make her cry this time?

It seemed like something he would do—except it didn't. If he was in one of those moods of his, when his eyes were hard and sharp and everything he did—the way he talked, what he said, the way he held himself—seemed explicitly intended to cause pain…

Then yeah. She could definitely see him calling her out in the middle of the night for no other reason but to reduce her to tears.

Most of the time, though… he really did seem to like her, to be her friend, even if he did think he was better than her. When he blazed with energy, when his spirits were high… he seemed to want her to be happy as well.

That his behavior could vary so much wasn't new to her—she certainly knew others like that. But Sayoko's lofty, composed demeanor was almost entirely artificial, a veneer that hid a girl who was terribly insecure and conflicted.

Kirihara's two sides, though—they were genuine. They were _him_. He never _pretended _to like her, never only _acted _like he wanted to hurt her. He was at once the guy who'd hospitalized her brother and the boy who did silly things to make her laugh. She couldn't reconcile his two modes of interaction, couldn't explain his dual personality. She didn't understand him.

But she _wanted _to.

She pushed back the covers, slid her phone and room-key into the pocket of the athletic shorts she'd worn to bed. She was almost to the door when Sayoko asked groggily, "Where are you going…?"

"Nowhere. I'll be back soon." An shut the door behind her softly, and crept through the hallway, down the stairs and out the door into the cool night air, immediately wishing she'd thrown a sweatshirt on. Being out there by herself in the dark, in a place she didn't know well… she felt uneasy. She started walking around the building, arms hugged to her chest.

Kirihara hadn't specified _where _to meet, only "outside." He could be anywhere on the grounds. Maybe he wasn't even out there at all, had only set her up to look like an idiot. She was fishing for her phone when she walked right into someone.

She stumbled back, hands flying up to stifle a scream. It was Kirihara of course, wearing his black and red uniform and a bemused expression. "Jeez, calm down. It's just me."

"Yeah, well, sorry," she hissed. "You came out of nowhere, with those dark clothes. You could have been a criminal, or a monster, or a ninja. For God's sake, you could have been a Death Eater."

"The dementors always scared me more," he mused, and then: "At least I'm not like, _glowing _in the darkness. You trying to get us caught, or what?"

He had a point. The white tank top and pale blue shorts she was wearing weren't exactly stealthy. But she would not concede this to him. "So what do you want? It's cold out here."

"What happened?" he asked, reaching out to brush his fingertips over her forehead, then retracting his hand to show her the blood.

"Oh." The pain had dulled to an ache, and she'd forgotten about it completely, caught up in trying to determine why Kirihara was the way he was. "I hit my head."

"Moron." There was no condemnation in his tone, just amusement. Hands in his pockets, he turned and started walking, his pace relaxed and unhurried. He didn't look back. He was trusting her to follow him.

There was no good reason why she should, and plenty that said she should go back to bed, but—reason flew out the window, where Kirihara Akaya was concerned. An was tired of doubting herself.

She followed him.

They walked in silence, though he seemed to want to speak. Periodically, he would meet her eyes, open his mouth—and then scowl, and look away.

It was cold and dark, but the shadows no longer seemed menacing. She felt… comfortable, just walking with Kirihara, waiting for him to find a way to express himself. With his dark clothing and hair, he all but blended into the night. Only his eyes, relentlessly bright, gave him away.

There were paths through the grounds, but the two wandered through the grass. An liked the feel of it on her feet, the texture and the coolness, the dew and the slight tickle. Kirihara was barefoot as well, the hems of his pants dragging.

In other circumstances—if she hadn't been angry with him, if he hadn't had his attention turned inward—she would have bumped him, or tagged him, or raced him. Shoulder-checked him or tugged on his hair, maybe even on his hand. But he owed her something, and damned if she would give him an easy way out.

They reached a bridge that arced over a shallow creek, and An hopped up on the railing, arms out for balance like a child. She advanced carefully, but with a skip to her step. She enjoyed the teetering, the breathless feeling of weightlessness.

Kirihara eyed her. "If you fall, it's your own fault. I won't catch you." Still, he slowed down to match her pace, walking right alongside her.

An just smiled, and when they'd crossed the bridge, she jumped down, pushing her hair behind her ears and turning to look at him. No sooner had she done this that he began to speak.

"Listen," he said, and then again: "Listen." He took his hands out of his pockets, ran one through his hair. "That stuff I said last night. I didn't—I wasn't talking about _you_. I didn't mean…" He shrugged, kicked the dirt. "I think…

"I think that you're too stubborn. That you're too judgmental. I think you hold grudges too long, and that you're completely stuck on thinking that how you see things is the only right way. I think you're too used to having everything go your way, to having everyone think you're great. I think you're too sensitive, and too proud.

"But I don't think…" He paused, frowned, and looked at her then, a look that was steady and earnest and terribly, terribly green. "I don't think I'm better than you. I've never thought I'm _better_ than you. And I think… I think you've known that."

She only stared at him. Because somewhere deep down, somewhere secret and private, somewhere that was all heart and no mind… she _had_ known, all along.

For Kirihara didn't communicate with words, usually. He _used _them, exchanged them with her often, but they could hardly ever be taken at face-value. Like when he'd called her a moron—the word had been unkind, but the feeling behind it affectionate. Or when he'd said he wouldn't catch her.

They'd both known he would be ready the moment she lost her balance.

So no, the black-haired boy could not be judged by his words. Instead he expressed himself through actions, through gestures, through the heat of his eyes. He'd been too surprised to catch her when she'd trust-fallen, but he had helped her up.

He insulted her all the time, but playfully, knowing she wouldn't take it seriously, that she would banter right back. That she would understand what he meant.

And she had.

"I think…" An began, and swallowed. "I think I have, too. I think I was looking for an excuse to be more upset about what you said, more upset than was warranted. I didn't… I jumped to conclusions. And I think…" she tried—only to shake her head, and offer him a helpless smile. "I don't know what to think, anymore. You just—you confuse me so much. All the time. Every day.

"And it's just… this is…" She looked at him, then down at her feet. She shrugged, smiled again, giggled, breathless and vulnerable, there in the dark. "I don't know. What is this?"

He looked back at her, his expression strange and intense but _soft_, and advanced to stand a few feet from her. He tilted his head, hair falling across those eyes, and said simply, "Hell if I know."

An laughed. "Yeah," she said softly. They maintained eye-contact for what should have been an uncomfortably long time, but wasn't. Or maybe it was. She couldn't even tell, too caught up in—_something_. On a whim, she closed the distance between them, touched her forehead to his shoulder. "Yeah," she said again, his shirt soft against her cheek.

He went very still, as if about to pull away. But then she felt the light light pressure of his hand on her hair, moving downwards gradually, his fingertips trailing the bare skin of the back of her neck.

She shivered, pressed her face into his chest. He smelled like pine, like spices. His hand came to rest on one of her shoulder blades. She didn't know what it meant. She wasn't even sure how long they stayed like that.

Instead she counted the breaths that she took, measured them against his heartbeat.

* * *

I _hate _plagiarists. (Also, bears.) Thanks to **Lahdolphin**, though, for reminding me of Parachute's "Kiss Me Slowly."

Disclaimer: I do not own _Prince of Tennis_, or Parachute's "Kiss Me Slowly" (lyrics at the top).


	17. Because There's Beauty in the Breakdown

**250 Dark Stars**

_(Would you believe me if I said I didn't need you?_

'_Cause I wouldn't believe you_

_If you said the same to me)_

…

The next evening, Sayoko encountered Niou in the hallway. He lifted his chin in acknowledgment, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed, even bored.

"Hi," she said shortly, going to step past him, but he moved to block her way. With raised eyebrows, he communicated: _Whatcha gonna do now, sweetheart?_

He was baiting her.

"Do you need something?" she asked stiffly. Once she had felt comfortable with him, like she didn't have to be careful about what she said, or monitor her facial expressions. He saw right through her anyway. Now she could only think about how he'd hurt and humiliated her. She'd shown him her heart, and he'd rejected it.

She'd never make _that _mistake again.

"No," he replied, casual enough to be taunting. "Why, do you?"

"Kinda, yeah," she muttered, and went to pass him. "I need you to let me—" He stepped in front of her again. "Niou-senpai!"

"Inside-voices, Sayoko, inside-voices." He nodded toward the direction he was facing. "Come on. I'll play a game of pool with you." He said it like it was some huge personal favor, like he was deigning to let her be in his presence.

"No thanks." No way would she buy into whatever power-trip he had going on, not when he was treating her like a puppy he'd neglected.

"Don't be so immature."

"I'm not being immature." She fought to keep her voice level. "I just don't want to play."

"And what _do _you want to do?" He cocked his head as if extremely interested in what her answer would be, and she had to take a very deep breath.

The bastard knew just which buttons to push. "I want to go finish my schoolwork."

"Fine," he shrugged. "I'll help you with your math."

Sayoko crossed her arms. "I don't need your help." What had gotten into him? He'd approached her in the past, indicated some amount of interest in her—but had never before been _persistent _about it.

His expression could not have been more patronizing. "You're terrible at math."

"Whether I am or not has nothing to do with you. Just leave me alone, would you? God. Find someone else to pick on for once."

His disdainful look faded, replaced by one of faint irritation. It made her meanly satisfied. "I'm not picking on you. Believe me, if I was—you would know it."

It was true. Had Niou actually been trying to hurt her, he'd already have her in tears. Distantly, Sayoko realized that whatever he was trying to do here, he'd at least started out with good intentions. But she was too tired and angry to care.

"You know, sometimes I really can't stand you," she seethed.

His lips curled back in a sneer. "The feeling is mutual."

She glared at him then, the meanest, coldest glare she could manage, her mouth thinned out and her gaze burning blue, but—he just looked ready to scoff. "You know that doesn't work on me, so you might as well cut it out."

Sayoko glared at him a moment longer—before she gave up, let it all go. Her shoulders dropped, and her heart shrank, and everything she felt manifested on her face.

God, why couldn't she ever do anything _right_? Just one single goddamned thing?

Niou looked on expressionlessly, though there was something peculiar about his eyes. Something she couldn't find the energy to identify. "Sweetheart," he said, with none of the condescension that usually permeated the pet name.

"Whatever," she muttered. "Just—I just—" She shook her head, looked anywhere but at him. "I need to go." She hurried to her room, closing the door behind her and sinking to the floor, miserable and utterly exhausted.

~x~

An was playing _Candy Land _with Kirihara, and she was about to win. She drew a card—and it sent her all the way back to Licorice Castle. She glared at him. "You planted that there."

"I would _never _do such a thing," he told her solemnly, his eyes flashing. "It hurts me deeply that you would make such an accusation. Seriously, my heart is bleeding."

"Yeah? Want me to give you a face to match, you cheater?"

"You wouldn't dare touch my face," he said indignantly. "It's too pretty. Not like _yours_."

"I _hate _you," she laughed. "One day you're actually gonna hurt my feelings, and I'm just gonna start crying, and you're going to feel _terrible_." He only snorted, so she stuck her arm out. "Let's play something you can't cheat at."

"I won't arm-wrestle you again," he sighed. "Don't get me wrong, I love winning—but there has to be at least _some _competition." Over her protests that she'd almost beat him that one time, he said, "We'll do rock-paper-scissors. Best twenty-six out of fifty."

"Bring it."

They moved away from the table, sat on the floor with their legs crossed. They went at it seriously, and not for the first time that night, it occurred to An how _comfortable _she felt with him. Whatever had happened between them the night before—and she recalled it vividly, his voice, his fingertips brushing the back of her neck—it had brought them closer.

They _had _something, some sort of understanding, and it had bridged the gap between them, the gap that was his arrogance, her stubbornness, and their history. If only she knew what _it _really was. But just sitting there looking at him, with his hair falling in his eyes and his lips drawn back in a half-smile—she grasped that she didn't have to know. Because whatever it was, it was working for them.

And she needed it.

"What are you staring at me for?" he smirked. "I mean, I understand the impulse, but I can send you a picture. You can use it as your screensaver, hang it on your wall…"

"I'll put it on my Christmas card," she told him, beating his rock with her paper. "The caption will read, 'The number one thing I'm _not _asking Santa for this year.'"

"That's 'cause I'm in such high demand. There's not nearly enough of me to go around to all the people that want me." His hand was large, and warm, and strong. She could feel his calluses.

"Somehow I'm having trouble thinking of anyone who does. I mean, maybe your mom. _May_be."

He seemed to be trying to stifle laughter, but kept his expression affronted and dangerous. "You just _went _there." In a slow sing-song, he continued, "Better take it back, Tachibana. I'm giving you a chance…"

_Might as well go for broke. _"You have girly eyelashes."

Too fast for her to react, Kirihara grabbed her, tugged so that her back was against his chest, his arm wrapped around her neck. With his other arm, he kept hers pinned to her sides. The bastard had her in a headlock.

"This is undignified," she grumbled. "Let me go, you jerk."

"_Make _me." Still, he readjusted his arm to make doubly sure that he wasn't hurting her. And… she trusted him not to. How weird was that? For the longest time, she'd associated Kirihara Akaya with violence and pain.

Now, leaning against his chest, she felt… relaxed.

Nonetheless, she wriggled free. He let her, and it was no sooner than she had done this that Niou stepped into the game room and came right up to them. "Go check on Sayoko." His voice was low, his eyes hooded.

"What?"

"Go check on her," he repeated, and she couldn't tell whether he was impatient or not. "She's in your room, and she's upset."

Kirihara leaned back on his hands. "Whatever you did to make her throw a fit, it's your own problem." He tilted his head toward An. "Don't drag her into it."

"No," she said, standing up. "No, it's fine. What is she upset about?"

He raised a shoulder in a thoroughly unconcerned shrug. "Hell if I know." An had no idea whether he did know and just wouldn't tell her, or didn't care enough, or what. Niou Masaharu… was completely beyond her.

Kirihara nudged her foot with his. "You don't have to babysit Yukimura-buchou's little sister. Niou-senpai's just lazy."

It occurred to her then that Sayoko was not a person to Kirihara, just an extension of Yukimura. An accessory, a chore. He and Niou began arguing—Kirihara did most of the talking, while the older boy only made short, cutting comments. An didn't listen. Was _she _a person to Kirihara?

She thought of his eyes on her, of his hand on her hair, her neck, her shoulder. Of the way he'd explained himself to her in words, how he'd sacrificed his pride to do it.

Yes, she rather suspected that she was as real to him as he was to her.

This in mind, she left the game room, probably without either boy noticing. On her way, she received a text from Shimizu. It read: **you better be ready to play on sunday!**

She was still trying to come up with a simile—_I'll be as ready as a teenage boy is to eat, _or _I'll be as ready as a wombat is to say "wom wom wom"_—when she got to her room. Sayoko was lying on the floor, and immediately An dropped to her knees. "Oh my God, are you—"

"I'm fine." Her voice was slow, quiet, completely toneless. Like she didn't have the energy to do more than string syllables together. "Just… tired."

An frowned, but—there weren't any tear-tracks on the other girl's cheeks, at least. Sayoko always cried when something was wrong. At that moment, though, she just seemed too exhausted to be upset.

"Then you should go to bed." She hauled the other girl to her feet. Sayoko didn't resist, but didn't put in much effort. Mostly, she was just dead-weight. Still, she shuffled over to her bed by herself.

An sat down on her own. "Niou-senpai asked me"—_told _her—"to check on you. He said you were upset." Sayoko didn't respond in any way. "I think he was worried about you." Actually, she didn't think that, but she didn't _not _think it, either. She didn't know what to think, when it came to Niou. Especially not in relation to Sayoko.

"I don't want to talk about Niou-senpai." Sayoko was sprawled on her bed, limbs strewn every which way, as if she hadn't the strength to rearrange them. Her face was turned toward the ceiling.

"Okay," said An, because what else could she say? "But… I don't really know how to help you, if you won't talk to me."

A long silence, and then: "Let's talk about bunnies."

An laughed a little. "Fair enough."

~x~

"English is dumb, anyway," Akaya said. It was a break period the next day, and he, An, and Sayoko were going to one of the lounges to meet with the rest of Rikkai. "I can already say the important stuff," he went on. "Like, 'I am a badass' and 'I will wrestle you for that jelly-bean.'"

"That's not the important stuff at _all_," An scoffed. "You at least have to know how to say 'You can't _handle _the truth,' as well as 'We are more than we are: we are one.' And then break out into song."

He liked that she always had something to add to a conversation. He also liked that she smelled like citrus and sunshine. "Those are just movie quotes. They don't even apply to anything."

"The Circle of Life applies to _everything_, stupid. That's the whole point." She checked him with her shoulder, and he pushed back lightly. Only not lightly enough—she stumbled. Akaya bit the inside of his cheek. Sometimes he forgot that she was considerably smaller than he was, that she was a girl.

Except—except he didn't. At times… at times, he was quite aware of that.

He frowned, and bumped his hip to hers, to let her know he hadn't meant to shove her that hard. When the corner of her mouth quirked up, he saw that she wasn't mad, and said, "It's not like you can use those in conversation. You need to be able to say things like 'I think your foot is on fire.'"

"Right," said An as they turned a corner, "because that crops up in _so _many conversations."

"It does," he told her indignantly. "I was talking to this guy a few weeks ago, right? So I'm talking to this guy, and I say to him, 'Guy,' I say, 'I think your foot is on fire.'"

"Was it?"

"Well, no," he admitted. "And he hasn't talked to me since." He stopped, affected a mournful look. "We had a good thing going, me and Guy." Theatrically, he clutched at his chest, and shouted, "Why won't you call me back?"

That made her laugh, and _that _made Akaya grin. Her laugh was like—he wasn't sure exactly, but it was a warm sound, warm and light.

Sayoko, being who she was, had to ruin it by picking that moment to walk into a wall. He'd forgotten she was with them, actually.

"Sayoko!" An went to her, clearly concerned and exasperated. "Are you all right?"

"Who the hell would put a _wall _there?" the blue-eyed girl muttered, rubbing at her forehead. The circles under her eyes were stark, apparent. Akaya couldn't decide whether they detracted from her beauty, or added to the drama of it.

"Maybe someone who wanted a room to have four sides?" he suggested sarcastically. "Just saying." An glared at him. She always had to make such a big _deal _out of every little thing. They walked the remainder of the way in silence, and he couldn't help but resent Sayoko for killing the fun atmosphere, and An for being so touchy. _Girls._

The rest of the team was already in the lounge, and he threw himself down on the couch beside Jackal. "Yo." Jackal made sense, and thus was the complete opposite of a girl.

"Hey," Jackal replied, sipping a bottle of water. "Did you see Chitose play Fuji? In the second set, Fuji was up two-love, and—"

It happened then, and it was the little things that stuck out to Akaya. The way her eyes widened, then closed. The way her hair spilled over her shoulder. The way her arms hung limply, no attempt to break her fall.

Because at that moment, Sayoko, walking over to her brother, slowed, and stopped, right there in the center of the room. She just looked… confused.

And then she collapsed.

Her knees buckled first, and she fell forward, the side of her head hitting the hardwood floor with a dull _thud_. It was familiar to Akaya, far too familiar—the blue eyes that closed, the high cheekbones that should have cut up the ground.

In his mind's eye, he went back years, back to a cold afternoon in October, back to the train station, and he could hear the nameless, faceless people, could smell the metal and exhaust fumes, could see Yukimura falling, falling, _falling_—

But his captain was there, was all right, and he was at his sister's side in an instant. "Jackal, get the nurse." The half-Brazilian left immediately. Yukimura knelt by Sayoko, his hands hovering over her, but not touching. He was keeping his composure, but—it looked like a struggle, and that unnerved Akaya more than anything.

The blue-haired boy looked to Yanagi urgently. "Is it okay to move her? Or is the risk of head injury…?"

"I believe it's best to leave her be," responded the taller boy, looking shaken. He knelt down as well. Sanada stood exactly where he was, immoveable as the mountain. He was clearly shocked, and Akaya knew, just _knew_, that it wasn't Sayoko he saw lying there. It was Yukimura.

Marui and Yagyuu had dropped to crouch at Sayoko's other side. "Did she faint?" demanded the redhead. "Or—" Glances were exchanged. Could Gullian-Barre Syndrome run in families? That couldn't be true, could it?

"Look more closely." That was Niou's voice, impossibly low. Slowly, slowly, the silver-haired boy walked over to kneel by Sayoko's head. "She's asleep," he said quietly, extending a hand to stroke the girl's hair. Akaya would never forget how light that touch looked, how gentle.

Sure enough, Sayoko's chest rose and fell as she breathed, deep and even, her lips slightly parted. Niou stared at her face, incredibly intent. Yukimura looked like he wanted to clutch his sister to his chest.

Akaya heard a small, soft noise, and turned to see An standing where she had been, as if in a trance. He advanced on her quickly, but not before she tried to go to Sayoko.

He quickened his pace, caught her around the waist. He pulled her back, away, and she struggled. "Let _go _of me," she hissed, digging her nails into his arm.

He grimaced, got her hands pinned to her sides. "That's enough," he muttered in her ear. "Just—calm down, okay?" He jerked his head toward the group surrounding the fallen girl. "You'd just get in the way."

She whirled on him, glaring something fierce, and he wanted to kick himself. "That came out wrong," he admitted. Why couldn't she ever just make things easy for him, listen to what he _meant _instead of what he said?

"I just—there's nothing you can do," he told her, trying to adopt a soothing tone. He couldn't _remember _the last time he'd tried to be soothing. "Everything's under control. Jackal-senpai will be back with the nurse any minute, and—" He shrugged. "You heard Niou-senpai. She just… fell asleep."

An shook her head wordlessly. "She… fell." Her voice was hollow, almost dumbstruck. "Like a porcelain doll that got knocked off a shelf. I thought—I half-expected her to shatter into a million pieces."

She looked up at him then, her blue-gray eyes huge and lost, and it made Akaya want to punch something. Of all people in the damn world, she wanted _him _to comfort her? Had she never _met _him? But—he had to try. If only because she was looking at him like that.

He hoped she understood the lengths he found himself going to, for her.

He let his arms fall away; she wasn't fighting him anymore. Still, he felt like he had to _do _something. Problems had to be solved, mistakes had to be fixed. What bothered him most about An being so upset was that he didn't know what the solution was.

Luckily, she provided an answer by resting her head against his arm. Akaya froze as a memory surfaced, but he squashed it, and relaxed. Leaned into her. The contact was solid, reassuring, and he was very aware of her closeness.

"It's okay," he told her, because what else _could_ he say? "Everything will be okay."

She nodded against him.

~x~

Sayoko remembered it in short bursts, choppy and static-y, like a radio with bad reception—walking toward her brother, and then finding a woman leaning over her, and Sayoko was so _confused_, what was going on, why was she on the floor, where was her brother, her brother, she wanted her _brother_—

And he'd been there. He'd gripped her by the shoulders, calmed her down. "Sayoko," he'd said, using the voice from her childhood—the one that told her to hurry up, to slow down, to stay close, pay _attention _for once. "Sayoko, listen to me. Listen."

She had, and now she was in an infirmary bed, her brother sitting in one of the hard plastic chairs across from her. The nurse wouldn't let her sleep, in case she had a concussion.

The silence was tense, unbearable. Her brother was perfectly still, just _looking _at her, his mouth thin. She, on the other hand, fidgeted and squirmed, her eyes darting all over the place, like she was being interrogated. Because she knew they were both remembering them, those dark, miserable days.

Why hadn't _she _sat by _his _bedside, when he was in the hospital?

Her throat was dry as dust. She swallowed, tried to breathe. "I'm sorry," she whispered. It came out squeaky and small. "I'm so sorry, Oniisan."

_I love you. I'm sorry. I need you. Please don't leave me. Please don't hate me. I love you. I'm sorry. I don't deserve you._

_I love you, and I'm sorry._

Her brother stood, rising with an innate grace and elegance that she could never possess, could not even fake or mimic, not like she did his authoritative mien and self-assured demeanor. She wanted to hug him, wanted to hide her face in his chest.

She just sat there.

"Get some rest, Sayoko." His voice was smooth, light. Had their roles been reversed, she would have been accusatory, hostile. Would have spoken sharply, used harsh words. But here he was, once again proving that he was a far better person than she could ever dream of becoming.

He left, and she wanted to cry.

A couple of the others visited her—Marui, Yanagi, Yagyuu, Jackal. They were concerned, well-intentioned. When An came in, she handed Sayoko a drawing done in crayon. It was of a tennis court, with a bunch of stick-figures, all smiling. There was a rainbow, and a bright yellow sun, as well as what was either a bunny or a mailbox.

"It's of your brother's team, and then us." The chestnut-haired girl shifted in the chair vacated by Sayoko's brother. "I ran out of time—we were all supposed to be holding Lightsabers."

The blue-eyed girl managed an anemic smile. "Thanks." She rubbed her thumb against the picture, felt the oily texture of the crayons.

"The nurse said that you were just super sleep-deprived… that you should be fine." When Sayoko didn't volunteer any information, An asked, "How are you feeling?"

_I'm fine _was on the tip of her tongue. But she felt—sick. Sick of herself, disgusted with herself. Like all her dark, ugly feelings had her rotting from the inside out. Like she never wanted to see her face in the mirror ever again. Like she would rather be someone else, anyone else.

Like she would rather be the girl sitting across from her.

"I'm a terrible person."

Sayoko froze. Had that confession just come out of her own mouth? Oh, God, it had. Stricken, she glanced at the other girl, but—An's expression was not condemnatory, or disgusted. She just looked concerned, and a little confused.

"I don't understand," the girl with the blue-gray eyes admitted slowly. "This"—she gestured to the infirmary—"isn't your fault."

Maybe it was because Sayoko wanted to be like her. Maybe it was because the other girl wouldn't disparage her like Niou, or make her feel small, like her brother. Maybe she just needed to tell _someone_.

So she did.

"My brother has always been better than me," Sayoko whispered. "At everything. It didn't—it never bothered me much, because I figured… I figured he was just perfect. There's no shame in not being as good as someone who's perfect, right?

"But when he got sick, I realized—that he was human. That he had weaknesses. That he wasn't perfect, not completely. And that—that made me so _mad _at him," she choked out. "Because… if he wasn't perfect, then what right did he have, to be better than me in every way?

"It's stupid. It's petty, and childish, and it doesn't even make _sense_, but—" A helpless shrug. "That's how I felt. I couldn't make myself feel something different. I just felt… betrayed, and resentful. Like he'd let me down.

"When really… _I _let _him _down."

It felt so strange, confessing her darkest, ugliest failure. Her biggest mistake. Her strongest regret. "I let him down," she said again. Like she was trying to spit out poison.

"I wouldn't visit him in the hospital. I just—refused. At first because I was so angry at him for being a _real person_, someone fallible, not the idol I'd built him up to be… and then… because I figured—what could I possibly do for him? What could I say to make him feel better? How could someone like him need someone like me?

"But…" Here, her voice was almost inaudible. "He did, I think. Need me. I was just—too weak to accept it. Too cowardly. And so… and so…" Tears built up behind her eyes.

"All alone. He was—he was all alone. He must… have been… so scared…!" She began shaking like a leaf as the tears spilled down her cheeks. "So frustrated, and anxious… so _lonely_…"

She didn't even try to stop crying. "The one time he needed me… the _one _time… and I didn't… I didn't d-do anything for him! Not one single goddamned thing. I l-let him _down_…!

"It should have been me," she sobbed, even as An's arms wound around her in a hard, tight hug. "_I _should have gotten s-sick… it should have been _me_…"

"Don't say that," said the other girl softly. "Never say that."

Sayoko just cried and cried, which wasn't at all unusual. But… these tears were special. They were the first selfless tears she'd cried in a long, long time. She wasn't crying for herself.

She cried for her brother, for how frightened and alone he must have been. For everything he'd been through.

She cried for her brother, because as far as she knew—he had not cried for himself.

~x~

Niou came in maybe an hour later, once An was long gone. Sayoko'd thought—she'd figured he wasn't coming, since he hadn't visited with the rest of her brother's teammates.

A huge knot was forming where her head had hit the floor, and her face was still blotchy and swollen from how hard she'd cried. She hadn't the energy to try to hide it. So she just sat there, looking as awful as she felt. Just sat there looking at him.

The silver-haired teen didn't sit down, instead lingered by the foot of her bed. With his bleached hair and sharp eyes, he seemed out of place, practically unreal. Like a ghost. His hands were in his pockets, as per usual, but he looked restless and tense, almost… almost uncomfortable.

This was so inconceivable to her, she gaped at him.

He narrowed his eyes at her. This was familiar, at least. "Sweetie, have you looked in a mirror? _You're _not the one who should be staring." Trust him to kick her when she was down—they both knew she'd been crying.

"If you only came to be mean to me, you might as well get out," she muttered without thinking. Then, she bit her lip. Because Niou would do it, just to prove a point. "I… I'm sorry." _Please don't leave._

He was silent for a moment, before: "No." Whether he was telling her not to be sorry, or just refusing to leave, was up to debate. He sat down on the edge of her bed. He didn't seem to quite know what he was doing.

Slowly slowly slowly, achingly slowly, he reached out a hand toward her face. His eyes were a little wider than normal, but otherwise his expression was quiet. She didn't know what hers looked like. Probably breathless.

With his palm on her left cheek, he brushed his thumb under her eye, as if wiping away an eyelash—_make a wish_—when there wasn't one. Instead, he seemed to be trying to rub away the circle there, the shadow, the scar of sleepless nights.

She wasn't sure if what she felt at that moment had a name.

His eyes held hers as he told her, "My younger brother decided to go to boarding school." His voice was low, even. "In Switzerland. Because our parents are probably getting divorced." At her baffled expression, he smiled a little. "That's the phone call I got, the other day."

That was why he'd been upset.

Why he would tell her now… she had no idea. All she knew was that he was looking at her. Not as one of her brother's teammates, and not as an upperclassman. In that moment, he wasn't her Niou-senpai.

He was just—a boy. Just a boy, without the protection of condescension or mockery. Without walls, without charades, without sarcasm or a smirk.

Just a boy, with his eyes unguarded and his hand on her cheek.

* * *

Hakuna matata.

Disclaimer: I do not own _Prince of Tennis_, or The Academy Is's "Skeptics and True Believers" (lyrics at the top).


	18. And How You're Gonna Be Something

**250 Dark Stars**

_(I've built so high these castles in the sand_

_Oh my running heartbeat needs a place to rest_

_What if all I can be is never good at best?)_

…

An tapped her foot. The clinic had ended on Saturday, and they'd arrived back at the school that night, in time for everyone to go home and get enough sleep for the first day of Prefecturals. Unfortunately, she hadn't needed to—she'd been _benched_.

Well, okay. She'd actually been slotted to Singles 2, which was technically a step up, but it meant she wouldn't get to play, all the same. This early on, the thought of not winning in straight matches was ludicrous.

"It's not fair," she'd groused to Shimizu upon first finding out the roster. "You texted me to be ready to play, and I _am_. I don't understand why you took me out of Singles Three."

The blond girl had planted a fist on her hip, eyebrows raised in an oh-no-you-did-_not_ manner. "First of all, it's my and Fuyumi's decision to make—we could pull you from the lineup altogether, and we _still _wouldn't owe you an explanation."

An had winced. Shimizu was usually so easygoing that the chestnut-haired girl had taken to treating her with less deference than she deserved, as an upperclassman and as vice-captain.

"Second of all," she'd continued, "exactly how much tennis have you played this week, hmm?" When An only bit her lip, the vice-captain leveled a pointed look at her. "Not much, I take it. And there's nothing you could have done about that.

"But if you think for one second that you're _entitled _to play every match, you've got another thing coming, chickie. You're a little rusty right now. We won't risk dropping Singles Three just for you. And Katsuragi hasn't gotten to play singles in a real match yet. Everybody wins."

Shimizu had clapped her on the shoulder, and said firmly, "_Rikkai _wins." She'd held An's eyes with her own, made sure the point had come across—and then skipped away, humming off-key to a Lady Gaga song.

Now, An sighed as she watched Singles 3. Her ego had definitely been taken down a peg or two. She still wasn't _happy _with the situation, but—she had gotten a little cocky, it was true.

But come _on_—Katsuragi's footwork was lousy! She reached a shot too late, and hit a paltry return, which her opponent put away for a winner. An noted the way her teammate was quicker to move right than left, the way her weight was on her back foot when she hit a forehand.

_I'll beat you next time, _she thought grimly, gripping the fence with her fingers. _Count on it._

Suddenly a hand entangled itself in her hair, pulling her head back. An got an upside-down view of Kirihara's face above hers. "So you got booted out of the lineup, huh?" He smirked down at her. "_That's _embarrassing. I don't know if we can be friends anymore."

"Have I ever told you that sometimes I daydream about you being eaten by a pack of rabid wolverines? Because I do." She reached back behind her head, swatted his hand.

He released his grip, and stepped forward to stand beside her, their shoulders touching. The chestnut-haired girl could feel her teammates' curious eyes on them. "Can't say I'm surprised that you daydream about me." Amusement animated his face. "Gonna go ahead and guess that I'm shirtless."

"Well, yeah, but that's only so their teeth can sink into your flesh faster."

The black-haired boy brightened. "So you want my death to be as quick and painless as possible? You _do _care." Before she could retort, he took her by the wrist, pulled her away from the fence, toward the courts the boys would be using. "Come on, let's go."

"Hey," she protested, and dug in her heels. He stopped, looked at her quizzically. "The match isn't over yet. I have to stay." She paused. "And you can't just grab me and drag me around, anyway."

"Oh, calm down," he scoffed. "The match has already been decided. You know Rikkai's going to win."

She shook off his hand, and placed both of hers on her hips. "And _you _know that I can't leave until it's officially over. I have to be part of the lineup, and anyway—it's a team thing. Would Yukimura-senpai let _you _leave, while one of your teammates was still playing?"

He dipped his chin to look at her in a willful, petulant sort of manner, and the motion made some of his hair fell in his eyes. Her fingers itched to push it back. "No," he said impatiently, "but…" Though he left the sentence hanging, she knew where he was going with it.

Boys' tennis was more important than girls'.

An's temper rose, hot and insistent, and she opened her mouth to snap at him—only to bite her lip. He hadn't actually _said _anything bad about girls' tennis, and… she couldn't fight with him over every little thing, over every perceived slight.

They'd end up fighting constantly, and she didn't want that. She wanted to keep feeling as comfortable with him as she did. She recalled resting her head against his arm, feeling his muscles bunch. Feeling the press of his body against hers, solid and reassuring and exactly what she'd needed.

So no, she wouldn't let his insinuation about her sport escalate into a huge blowup. But she wouldn't pretend it hadn't happened, either.

"I'll see you later," she told him stiffly, and turned her back on him. She heard his irritated exhalation of breath, his retreating footsteps. Part of her was a little disappointed that he didn't try to apologize or make up, but—

The boy gave as good as he got.

~x~

Still, when Fuyumi dismissed the team, she went to where the boys were playing, first leaning over the fence, her face by Yukimura's. "Yukimura-senpai?"

His smile was small, but, as best as she could determine, genuine. "Hello. How did your match go?"

"We won," she told him, helpless but to return his smile, even when reminded of being dropped from the lineup. "But senpai… I don't see Sayoko. Did she not come?"

Yukimura assumed a tranquil expression, and she couldn't tell whether or not it was sincere. "No, she stayed home today, sleeping. She'll be at school tomorrow, however."

"Oh, okay." The tension left An's shoulders. "So she's doing all right?"

Only a fraction of a pause. "Yes, she seems none the worse for wear." He was quiet for a moment, before: "Though I think it would do her well, to see you. Would you mind terribly, stopping by after the match? I'll walk you there, and then home, if need be."

She blinked at him, fighting to suppress a wide, pleased smile. "Oh," she said. "No, I don't mind at all. As long as I wouldn't be imposing…"

"Of course not," he smiled. "Like I said before, you're welcome anytime, Tachibana-kun." She was pretty sure the sentiment was heartfelt, and she got that warm, safe, happy feeling, like liquid sunshine ran through her veins.

The power he had over others… it was amazing. He definitely deserved his title as Child of God.

Next she talked with Yagyuu briefly, discussing a book she'd noticed him reading at the clinic, before she made her way over to Kirihara. Her indignation at his implication had mostly faded, and she bumped his hip with hers.

For a moment, he just looked at her expressionlessly, and she feared he was holding a grudge—before the corner of his mouth quirked up, and he bumped her back. They grinned at each other.

"I wish our math class could go on a field trip," she told him then, leaning her arms on the fence. A couple feet away, Marui and Jackal prepared for Doubles 2. The redhead seemed to be deciding which flavor of gum to chew.

"A _math _field trip?" Kirihara brushed a finger under his nose. "To where, America? I guess we could travel around and count all the states, see if there really are fifty. I doubt it. The hell do they need _two _Dakotas for?"

"In case one of them goes out of style. States with 'North' in the name are _so _last month. But anyway," she went on, "we could go anywhere. We could count penguins at the zoo. We could calculate the area of an amusement park. I've never been on a math field trip before—I just wanna go_somewhere_."

"Field trips are pretty great," he agreed, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it onto the bleacher seat behind him. "Except for when they're not. Like one time, they took us to this dojo in the mountains and made us meditate. I wanted to _shoot _myself."

An giggled—the idea of Kirihara sitting still long enough to meditate was ridiculous to her. He had the focus for meditation, but not the patience or inclination.

Said green-eyed ace quirked an eyebrow at her. "Don't you laugh at the thought of me killing myself." He poked her arm, and she poked his chest. He poked her collarbones, and she reached up to consecutively poke his forehead, nose, chin, and both cheeks.

Impishly, she grinned at him. "I win."

But his attention was no longer on her, instead on something beyond her. She turned, and saw some girls taking their seats in the bleachers. She recognized them as fellow second-years at Rikkai. That they were there wasn't surprising—the boys' tennis matches were a prime social event.

One of the three noticed Kirihara, and waved cheerfully at him. Both her hair and eyes were the color of coffee, only the former was that of it with cream, and the latter, without. At her friendly gesture, the black-haired boy's eyebrows drew together, though he lifted his chin in acknowledgment.

"Who is that?" An wanted to know. Something stirred in her chest.

Kirihara just shrugged, and turned back around. After a last inquisitive look at the other girl, she followed suit. "Nobody." They started talking about his teammates, and she mentioned how she and Sayoko had slipped the picture of fairy-Sanada under his door.

"We never got any sort of reaction," she admitted, sneaking a glance at the third-year in question. His eyes were firmly fixed on the match taking place, though it wasn't interesting in the slightest—the opposition was getting crushed. She felt like Sanada needed a new hobby.

Perhaps she should suggest dolphin-watching?

"Kind of makes me wonder whether it was the wrong door," she went on, envisioning the hazel-eyed youth sitting on the beach with a pair of binoculars, wearing one of those floppy hats old ladies wore.

"Nah, I bet you he got it," Kirihara snickered softly. They couldn't risk being overheard by the stern vice-captain. "And tore it into a million pieces, and added it to his breakfast—a bowl of nails and skim-milk. Or, I don't know," he added thoughtfully. "Maybe he secretly really likes it, and has it framed in his bedroom."

"It really was one of my finer works," An said wistfully. "Kind of wish I'd hung on to it."

"Meh, a picture of Sanada-fukubuchou isn't worth keeping." Sitting down on the bleachers, he smirked up at her. The sun, behind him, traced the dark of his hair in white-gold. "You should draw _me_."

"All right." Why not? She sat beside him, digging through her bag. She had paper and a pen somewhere… "But I don't have any crayons, so it'll just be in…" She found what she needed. "Sparkly purple ink."

"I hope it'll bring out my eyes," he deadpanned, and she laughed, putting the biography of Empress Suiko on her thigh to use as a flat surface. Then she began to draw, the sunshine heavy on her hair. Occasionally, she paused to look at him, but only for effect.

She knew exactly what he looked like, could see him in her mind's eye—the almond-shape of his eyes, the slope of his nose, the wide, sharp planes of his cheekbones. The way his hair fell in his face. She knew this all by heart.

She drew him cartoon-style, because she didn't have anything close to the artistic talent necessary to draw him for real. She didn't have the skill to depict the electric energy that surrounded him, that _defined_ him, restless and bright—

And so seriously trying to draw him wouldn't just be pointless, but… wrong, somehow.

At one point, he caught her eye, smiling slightly. It was just a small, friendly moment, one they'd shared many times, but—something came over her suddenly, a surge of warm emotion, and—

"Hey," she said, smiling back, almost shyly. "Hey," she said again, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. "You…" She paused, tried to put her feelings into words… and realized the sentiment was too strong, too deep to express without embarrassment.

So she looked at him, and she told him— "You're a good kid."

Kirihara made a face, determining whether she was making fun of him, whether he should respond negatively. "I mean it," she insisted, and rubbed the back of her neck. She remembered his fingertips there, fleeting, touching, touching— "You're a good kid."

"Whatever," he scoffed, and it kind of—it kind of made her want to hug him, this boy, this friend of hers who made her happy and asked for little in return. She wanted to communicate her gratitude, her affection.

Because it was a rainbow-feeling that he gave her. An arc of color against a bright blue backdrop, rain-clouds fading into the distance. Kirihara Akaya… he'd come to mean a lot to her, and she was only now realizing how much.

He stared at her strangely, green eyes dark, and she blushed, looked down. She had no idea what had gotten into her, where the rush of goodwill had stemmed from. She was aware that it had been building for a while, but—still.

All she knew for sure was that the boy beside her had become a good friend, a close friend. Someone she could count on.

She looked up at him, and she smiled.

~x~

The boys won their match without dropping a single _game_, so it wasn't long before An was walking to Yukimura's house with him. She looked at him surreptitiously, admired the profile of his face.

Whether she still had a crush on him, she didn't know. Whether she ever _really _had, she wasn't even sure. But in all the drama of the past couple days… the breathless feeling he'd given her hadn't faded, but had instead solidified into something stronger, more meaningful.

She wasn't sure what to call the feeling. Or maybe she was, and just had trouble accepting it, rationalizing it in her mind. Still. She bit her lip, searched for something to say, something that wasn't stupid or inane.

"It's really strange that Sayoko could have so much trouble sleeping, when normally she sleeps so deeply." Too late, she realized that such a conversation-starter could lead to dangerous territory. Damn it, she should have talked about unicorns, or at least _bunnies_, for God's sake. No one could be unhappy when talking about bunnies.

She risked a glance at the older boy, and found that his expression was neutral. "Yes, it's rather disconcerting," he agreed, and seemed about to say something else. He didn't, though, and that made sense.

Why would the Child of God confide anything in _her_?

Still, though. "Your sister…" she began. "Your sister, she…" _Loves you a lot. Feels terrible about what she's done. Needs you so much._

With a pang, An recalled the other girl, sitting there in the narrow infirmary bed, shaking and sobbing, completely inconsolable.

She'd cried like her heart was breaking.

"You mean so much to her," she whispered. "It's almost—it's wonderful, really." As long as one overlooked how much pain it caused the blue-eyed girl. "She loves you more than anything," she said suddenly, because she felt—

She felt like he needed to hear it.

With equal parts caution and determination, she looked him right in the face and took a shot in the dark. Guessed what he was feeling, based on what she would have felt, in his situation.

"Your sister… you're everything to her. She has—a lot of trouble showing it. And she's made a lot of mistakes, including some… some really bad ones." Despite herself, she glanced away. "But no matter what… I don't think she ever wanted to hurt you. Really, that's—I think that's the _last _thing she'd ever want to do. But she has, and she feels… she feels awful. Just really, really—just _awful_.

"And… and… I don't—I don't know. But you've done well with her, you know? _I_ think so. I mean, she's a difficult, complicated person, and right now she has—she has a lot of problems, but… she's a good person. She really is.

"And so…" she struggled. "Saying all of this—it isn't my place, and I'm sure—I'm sure you knew most of it already. You _are _her brother, and I—I haven't known her that long. But even so, I know…

"I know that Sayoko loves you. More than anything. So you really… you really must have done something right, Yukimura-senpai. You shouldn't feel bad about all the stuff that's happened to her lately."

She gripped the strap of her bag tightly. What if he thought she'd been talking down to him, acting like she knew his little sister better than he did? What if she'd completely misjudged his feelings? Looking at him, she had no idea what to think. The set of his jaw was neither clenched nor slack, and the line of his mouth was neither up- nor downturned.

But his eyes… his eyes were very soft. Whether this was with relief, or sadness, or regret… she hadn't a clue.

And maybe it wasn't her place to know.

Finally, he stopped walking, and she paused as well. He reached out to her, placed his hand on the side of her head, a little behind and above her ear, and just sort of left it there for a moment, a gentle, comforting weight.

It wasn't anything so patronizing as patting her on the head, anything so meaningless. It was just—it was nice. Meeting those angel-blue eyes, she wasn't sure whether she'd made him feel better, but she knew…

She knew he at least understood she'd tried.

~x~

When Yukimura woke up the next morning, he stepped out of his bedroom to find Sayoko. She sat beside his door, leaning against the wall. Her legs were bent at the knees, and a blanket was wrapped around her shoulders. She was asleep.

He sighed. Had she been there the whole night? He'd grown accustomed to her irrational behavior, but—sometimes, she was really beyond him. What purpose could sleeping outside his door have served?

"Sayoko," he said, crouching down to shake her by the shoulders. "Sayoko," he said again, directly in her ear. Rousing his little sister was not like trying to wake the dead—it was like trying to drag them back, kicking and screaming, from the depths of the underworld.

Eventually, she did stir, blinked up at him sleepily. "Oniisan," she said, yawning, and something about the way she said it reminded him of all those years ago, of the very first time she'd said it.

For so long, she hadn't spoken, hadn't said a single thing. And her first word, the first thing she ever chose to say—_Oniisan_. Not _Mother_, not _Father_.

_Oniisan._

_You mean so much to her, _Tachibana An had said. _She loves you more than anything._

He pressed his lips together.

Before his eyes, Sayoko regained her sense of awareness, seemed to remember why she'd camped out by his door. She opened her mouth, tried to say something. Struggled with it. She wanted to tell him something, was trying to find the words.

_You're everything to her, _Tachibana An had said. _She has a lot of trouble showing it._

_I know that better than anyone, _he thought grimly, remembering those long, torturous days in the hospital. The anxiety, and the frustration, and the pain. The helplessness, and the loneliness.

The look on Sayoko's face, when she'd entered his hospital room that first and only time. The accusation in her expression, and the betrayal. The way she'd turned her back on him, walked out without a second glance.

Maybe, in a dark, secret corner of his heart, he'd never forgiven her for it.

"Sayoko," he said, trying to soothe her. "Sayoko, it's all right. Just get up. You need to get ready for school." He stood to take his own advice, but she caught his hand, her grip surprisingly strong.

"Oniisan." Her voice was faint, her eyes distressed, but—determined. A determination that was unlike her, a force of will that he couldn't ever recall seeing in her. But he recognized it immediately, for it was exactly like his own.

"Oniisan," she repeated. Like a plea, or a prayer. Maybe even a promise.

Sayoko hugged him then, blanket-draped arms winding around his torso. Hugged him like she had only a moment left to live. He was caught in a crouch, straining and unsteady.

She'd buried her face in his chest, and he stared down at the back of her head, exasperated but—touched, he supposed. Stroking her hair, he said finally, "Sayoko… you can let go of me at any time."

After a final squeeze, she withdrew just enough to meet his eyes, her own bright and resolute. She didn't say anything, not a word, but he could tell—

She had made a decision. A big one.

He could only hope it was for the better.

~x~

"Hey, sweetie. Feeling all right?"

Sayoko blushed, ducked her head. School had just let out, and she'd encountered Niou on his way to the clubhouse. "Encountered" wasn't the right word—she'd meant to see him, but knew that actually trying to find him was a fruitless endeavor.

So she'd waited in a place he was _likely _to pass by, and she'd hoped.

"Yeah," she said softly. "Yeah, I'm okay." She approached him, stopped a few feet away. He just looked at her, waited for her to say whatever it was she wanted to say to him. His expression was not disdainful, or patronizing, or even impatient.

It was just… smooth. Perfectly smooth, communicating only what he chose to. No weaknesses, no glimpses into his mind. It wasn't that he didn't show emotion, it was just—

It was like there was a layer of ice between him and what he showed to the world. Like when she talked to him, she was standing on a frozen lake. She could make out the motion below the surface, the stirrings of life—

But could not actually touch them, or interact with them. Could only watch, and guess, and wish.

Except… she could feel the ghost-touch of his hand on her cheek, his breath on her face. Could see his eyes, soft and intent. She'd almost convinced herself that she'd imagined it, that moment of vulnerability.

But she knew it had happened, that she hadn't wished it into existence, because—she couldn't make up that kind of thing. That peculiar sort of intimacy, that strange, breathless trust. That moment when something nothing everything had _happened_.

That moment when something had changed.

Now, looking at him… if she really looked closely, she could see it—not his vulnerability, but at least the possibility of it. And that was enough for her to find them. The words that had been forming ever since her collapse. The words she'd been dwelling on, agonizing over. The words she hadn't been able to say to her brother that morning, but hoped she'd communicated regardless.

"I've decided… that as a person… I'm going to change."

Niou tilted his head ever so slightly, his expression betraying nothing but a faint curiosity, a shred of interest. Like a cat that had seen something moving in the grass, but wasn't sure it wanted to leave its spot in the sun to investigate.

But even that—that was enough. "I'm going to change," she said again, took a breath. "I… don't… know how," she confessed, and began to look down, away, anywhere but at him—

Only to take another breath, and force herself to meet his eyes, her own sincere and shaky-steady. "But… I can't… go on like this any longer. I can't. It's not—it's not working. If I were only causing problems for myself… that would be one thing.

"But… I've caused a lot of trouble for _you_, Niou-senpai. For you, and An. For my brother," she whispered. "Before, I thought… I thought that there was nothing I could do about it. That it was out of my hands. But thinking like that, doing nothing… it's… it's just…"

She shook her head, clenched and unclenched her hands to keep from chewing her nails. "I don't want to regret anymore. I won't. So I have… to try," she managed. "To change. And I—I will. Somehow… I'm going to become strong."

Niou passed a hand over his face, his body-language weary. "Sweetheart," he said. Rubbed absently at his jaw. "Sweetheart, you…" He shook his head, looked at her fondly, but—indulgently. Like she was a child that had told him she would become Prime Minister.

He didn't believe her. And that—that really hurt.

Sayoko bit the inside of her cheek. "I'm going to change," she said again, almost imploringly, as if repeating it would convince him.

_Sure you are, _said his expression. To his credit, he did not say it aloud. Instead, he nodded once, humoring her, and moved past, touching her shoulder briefly. He wasn't trying to hurt her feelings—he just didn't believe she had it in her to change.

And that made her _angry_.

Before he'd gone more than a few steps, she turned on her heel and grabbed his forearm, gripped it firmly. He paused, looked back at her, his surprise strong enough to be clearly written on his face.

"You may not believe me," she said, meeting his eyes steadily. As quick as it had come, her anger had cooled to something that was solid and heavy, but not burdensomely so. It was a weight that stabilized her, and with this stability came clarity of mind, reaffirmation of purpose.

"You may not believe me," she said again, as calm and composed and sure of herself as she had ever been. "Truth be told… I wouldn't, if I were you. But I _am _going to change. I am. I'm going to become someone strong, and mature.

"Not just someone that doesn't constantly need the help of others… but someone that other people can count on. It might take me a while… but… eventually, it's going to happen. And I hope…" She swallowed. "I hope that you'll be there, to see it. I hope that you'll care. And I hope that somehow… somehow, I'll be able to repay you. For everything."

She held his gaze with her own, and while it seemed like he wanted to look away—he didn't. His lips were slightly parted, his eyes a little wide. Like he'd seen something strange or even amazing, something he couldn't quite believe.

He smiled, then. Slow, and crooked, and so small as to be hardly noticeable, save for the almost breathtaking quality of it. "All right, Sayoko," he said finally, voice quiet and amused. Not warm, but not cold. "All right."

She released her breath—and remembered to finally release his arm. Shyly, she returned the smile. "Thank you, Niou-senpai. For listening, and for…" She gestured expansively with her hands, trying to communicate everything he'd done for her.

His smile changed slightly, became a smirk. "For waving my arms around?"

She made a face. "You know what I meant."

"Uh huh," he murmured, one corner of his mouth still upturned. Hands in his pockets, he started walking again, toward the tennis courts. "Well, come on, then. If I'm late, you're running my punishment laps for me."

And for a moment, she just watched him go, a peculiar, fluttery feeling in her chest. A feeling she didn't dare identify. Then, she trotted to catch up. "That's what _you _think."

He looked at her sideways, and did not smile, but—_she _did, and it was bright enough for both of them.

* * *

Everyone watch the Rafael Nadal vs. Novak Djokovic U.S. Open final tomorrow! :D

... Unless Rafa loses, in which case, _forget you saw anything._

Disclaimer: I do not own _Prince of Tennis_, or Green River Ordinance's "Love Laid Down" (lyrics at the top).


	19. And All You Know, and How You Speak

**250 Dark Stars**

_(Time to tear you apart_

_But it won't break_

_Anything that we are)_

…

"I can't _believe _you," An said to Sayoko the next day during math. "How could you keep that from me?"

The other girl's eyebrows drew together. "It never came up." She paused. "Until now, I guess." A moment ago, their conversation had turned to birthdays, and she'd mentioned hers was soon.

"How do you not _bring_ it up?" An wanted to know, completely ignoring what they were supposed to be doing. "I mean, when my birthday's coming up, I mention it in pretty much every conversation I have…"

Well, not "mention" so much as "drop strong hints as to what presents she wanted." How else was she to make sure someone bought her a falcon?

"Maybe that's why no one likes you," Kirihara commented. He, An, Sayoko, and Kaji were working together. At first, Kiko and Hiyono had made to join An's group, but the former had balked at working with Sayoko, and the latter, with an apologetic shrug to An, had followed the honey-haired girl to another group.

An bit her lip. Having friends that didn't get along really bothered her. Maybe if she could—

"Oi," said Kirihara, poking her temple. "Focus, Tachibana. I need these extra credit points."

She made a face at him. "Then maybe _you _should try solving one of the problems." Kaji had been helping her, but Kirihara and Sayoko were pretty much dead-weight.

Where Sayoko was unable to help, skill-wise, Kirihara was just unwilling. "I can't," he complained unabashedly. "I'm tired." With that, he scooted his chair closer to the chestnut-haired girl, placing his head on her shoulder and closing his eyes.

An rolled her own, and ran a hand over his hair, trying to smooth it down—it was tickling her throat. Otherwise, she did not push him away, and at the easy familiarity of the two, Kaji raised his eyebrows. Sayoko, on the other hand, did not seem to think anything of it, and continued staring at the equation on the board like it had personally offended her.

Tateishi-sensei approached, hands clasped behind his back. "SEAL Team Six is falling apart, it appears," he remarked dryly. All the groups had chosen names. Theirs had been Sayoko's suggestion, and Kaji had grinned approvingly.

Kirihara and An had traded confused looks, but declined to ask about the significance of the name, for fear of looking dumb. Sometimes she felt like it was a lost cause.

With a folded-up piece of paper, the teacher swatted Kirihara's head. "Kirihara-kun, school policy forbids public displays of affection. Head off her shoulder, if you would."

"Yeah," Sayoko deadpanned. "That's how babies are made."

An laughed, and Kirihara raised his head indignantly. "I feel like 'displays of affection' are completely open to interpretation," he objected. "I mean, I could punch her, and say it was out of affection."

"Fortunately," said Tateishi-sensei, unperturbed, "school policy forbids punching, as well. Now," he went on, turning to An, "have you even _started _on the problem?"

"Oh," said the chestnut-haired girl. "Yeah—yes. I'm not finished, but I think what I have so far is right…" She showed him her paper, and he reviewed her work, a hand cupping his chin.

After a moment, he shook his head. "No—see here?" He pointed to some scribbled calculations. "You can't do that. It's messed up the whole problem."

"Augh," she moaned, and crumbled up the paper, threw it at Kaji. "I quit." A moment or two later: "… Actually, can I have that back? I think I know how to fix it."

"You figure that out _now_," he said with long-suffering good humor. The teacher just sighed wryly, and went to help another group. As the weeks had progressed, he'd begun to tolerate some fun on the part of his students.

Once he was gone, Kirihara let his head drop back onto An's shoulder. She raised her eyebrows. "Is it really that comfortable?"

He made a noise that could have been either agreement or disagreement, and turned his face toward her throat, his warm breath spreading over her skin.

She stared down at the back of his head as a different kind of warmth spread over her cheekbones.

~x~

Niou ran a hand through his hair, the motion lazy, careless. The look on his face was similar, though tinged with amusement. "Gonna walk me to practice, are you?"

Sayoko fought a blush. "In case you get mugged," she said lightly, falling into step beside him. She'd waited where she had the day before, but had been surprised when he'd approached it again. She knew he never liked to take the same route twice in a row.

What had made him go against his tendencies?

"I can rest easy, with you here to defend me," he assured her with mock-solemnity. After that, the only sound between them was the _crunch _of gravel as they walked the path to the boys' courts.

The silence wasn't uncomfortable, and before, it never would have occurred to her to break it, not without some specific question she wanted to ask him. But… she'd promised to change, hadn't she?

Maybe she could become someone Niou would respect, someone that could carry a _real_ conversation with him.

One that didn't end in tears, anyway.

"We did group-work in math today," she told him suddenly. "I named our group SEAL Team Six." Inwardly, she cursed. Like he would care what she'd named her dumb group. Stupid, stupid, _stupid_—

He looked at her sidelong, eyes glinting with amusement. "Did you, now," he drawled. "Don't you think that level of badass is a little beyond you, sweetie?"

She began to bristle, both at the patronization of the pet name and at the way he always, _always _had to bring up her weakness. Then, she bit her lip. _Change. __I'm going to change. I _have _to change. I can't get offended so easily. _"I'm protecting you from being mugged," she pointed out, chin tilted haughtily. This, at least, came easily to her.

"That you are," he agreed, turning more fully to consider her. He'd seen her rise to the bait, had taken note of how she'd restrained herself. She looked back at him, hoping for some sign of approval, something that hinted at the possibility of earning his respect.

Instead his eyelids drooped low, at the same time a corner of his mouth quirked up. _Uh oh. _Indolently, he reached out, draped an arm around her shoulders. Drew her to him.

She stumbled slightly, looked up at him in confusion, too surprised to flush. "Niou-senp—"

"You know, sweetheart," he began, his mouth by her ear, "instead of coming up with cute little names, you should probably learn how to actually _do _math." She could _feel_ the intake of breath as he smirked. "Just thinking out loud."

Distracted by the press of his body to hers, by the smell of him—spearmint and rain—she didn't immediately respond. By that point, her face had grown hot. _Pull away, _urged a small voice in her head. _Pull away from him. _

To do so took more effort than it should have—he didn't resist, just put his hands back in his pockets, smirk still in place. As if the brief contact had dirtied her, she brushed herself off, her mind scrambling.

He was trying to provoke her. They both knew it. But _why_? Out of boredom? Because seeing her get upset amused him?

Sayoko bit at a thumbnail, ignored the redness of her cheeks to look him dead in the eyes, searching for the boy who'd put his hand on her cheek. For the boy who'd offered her personal information like he was trusting her with something precious.

There. She'd held his gaze long enough that he looked somewhat surprised, and she saw him then. The boy she knew him to be, someone who was always thinking, but _felt_ just as strongly as she did, only hid it beneath insouciance and a smirk.

That boy, she knew, cared for her. That much could not be denied, not after all the times he'd sought her out, all the times he'd helped her, in his own way. Not after that moment in the infirmary.

Keeping that in mind, she said, as evenly as she could, "Niou-senpai… I'm trying really hard, okay? I am." She faltered. "If you won't make it easier for me… could you at least not go out of your way to make it harder?"

He was silent for a long moment, his face unreadable. She thought that maybe she'd gotten through to him. That maybe he was starting to take her seriously. And then he said, "Still looking for special treatment, huh? Thought you wanted to change."

It took all of her self-control not to snap at him. Still, her voice was tight when she said, "Niou-senpai, _seriously_. Quit it, okay? Just—just stop. I don't… I can't…" _I can't constantly be at odds with you. I need you._

From the look on his face, he'd heard her unspoken words. He'd always been far too good at reading her. Unfortunately, that did not soften him. Not this time. "I know you can't, Sayoko. That's why, your little spiel from yesterday? About becoming strong…?" He crouched down until they were eye-level, and whispered, "Let's just say I'm not holding my breath waiting for it."

She couldn't take it anymore. "What is your _problem_?"

Niou slanted an eyebrow. "Sometimes? _You_."

At the frank, merciless way he'd said it, she gaped, and not for the first time, something inside her just—deflated. As if, for the time being, he'd broken her will to change, to try. Broken her will to his. Why could he _affect _her so much?

He smiled at her then, at her disheartened demeanor. His expression was no longer unkind, no longer hurtful. Instead, he was looking at her very softly. Affectionately, even. With a steady, gentle hand, he reached out to her again, stroked her hair once. She would have believed he was trying to comfort her—had he not been the one to intentionally upset her.

Then he walked away without another word.

Left behind, she could only hug herself and wonder—Could it be that Niou didn't want her to change?

~x~

On Wednesday morning, An came to school exhausted, but pleased. At practice the day before, she'd managed the one-footed split-step. She hadn't _mastered _it, but just being capable of it was impressive enough. She'd felt so excited that she'd started bouncing around, jumping and spinning—and Shimizu had told her that if she had _that _much energy, she could do thirty extra sprints.

She was pretty sure that if someone X-rayed her legs, they would find that her bones and muscles had turned to pudding. What flavor, she wasn't sure. Maybe chocolate. She got kind of a chocolate-y feel from it.

In homeroom, she glanced around for Kirihara or Sayoko, to get their thoughts on pudding, only to discover that neither was there. She dropped her stuff at her desk and went looking for them.

She heard Sayoko before she saw her. "… and I don't have time for a relationship right now. I'm very sorry." An rounded a corner to find the blue-eyed girl talking to a boy from another class. Her words were insincere, her tone mechanical. With Sayoko, though, it could have been worse. An could tell that she wasn't trying to be _mean _about the rejection, at least.

The boy shrugged in what was clearly supposed to be an unconcerned way, but the motion was too fast, and came off as kind of a spasm. "No problem. I didn't even—yeah. Yeah. Anyway, I'll see you around."

He walked off quickly, shoulders hunched. An approached her friend, offered a small wave. "Hey. How does that boy know you?"

"Hmm…? We're on student council together." The mahogany-haired girl started chewing on her nails, and An knew something was wrong. Had turning down that boy made her feel bad?

Then Niou strolled into sight, grinning at something Yagyuu was saying to him, and Sayoko visibly stiffened. So the silver-haired boy was the reason she was upset.

… Or _Yagyuu_ had done something to her, but—that seemed far less likely. Unless the mahogany-haired girl had developed an allergy to politeness?

Absorbed in these thoughts, the boys were within a couple feet of them when she started focusing again. Still grinning, Niou extended a hand to touch Sayoko's hair—only to have her step neatly out of reach.

"Good morning, Yagyuu-senpai," she said, making a point to look only at the brown-haired boy. Then, almost before he could return the greeting, she turned on her heel and strode away. Niou watched her go, grin fading, eyes narrowing. After a moment, he let his hand fall back to his side.

Yagyuu sighed, pushed his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose. "What did you do to her _this _time?"

Niou seemed about to respond, only to remember that An was there. He rounded on her, and she wasn't sure what to call his expression. Calculatedly cheerful, perhaps. "Hey there, Tachibana-kun." He said it mockingly. "How are things?"

He was in something of a bad mood, and seemed inclined to take it out on her.

"Um," she said, and wanted to kick herself when he smirked at her (lack of) eloquence. Still, she wasn't sure how to respond. Her first instinct was to react to the taunting nature of his inquiry with a sharp retort, but…

Provoking Niou Masaharu did not seem wise.

"I," she went on, trying to string a sentence together as she thought. Unfortunately, she was too tired to multitask effectively. "I, ummm…"

Someone poked her between the shoulder blades. "You should probably quit before you hurt yourself, Tachibana-kun. Just saying." She turned to find Marui and Jackal, the former being the one who'd poked her and spoken. "Anyway," he continued blithely. "Why didn't anyone tell me that we were having a party in the hallway this morning? I would have brought snacks."

"It wasn't a party until _you_ showed up, Marui," Niou deadpanned.

"And you brought things to eat anyway," Jackal reminded the redhead. "Unless you were planning on building a fort out of all those bags of chips…"

"Maybe I was," said the volley-specialist indignantly. "And maybe I won't let any of you guys in it." He patted An on the head. "Tachibana-kun can come in, though. She's a good kid."

"Thanks," she mumbled. Did he have to be so patronizing? But: "I like forts. Almost as much as I like Slip'n'Slides."

"Oh yeah, we never did have our Slip'n'Slide party, did we?" Marui clapped her on the shoulder. "I'll have my people call your people. Now, scoot off to class, yeah? A day of learning awaits you!"

An made a face at him, but did as her upperclassman bid. _Stupid senpai. _

Upon returning to homeroom, she brightened to find that Kirihara had arrived. _He_, at least, would care about pudding. She skipped over to his desk, tugged on a piece of his hair. "Hey," she chirped. "So yesterday I was at tennis practice, and—are you even listening to me?"

"Not really," he said absently. He was facing the window, his chin propped up on one hand and his eyes distant— the green of them almost faded, in a way.

An frowned, dragged a chair over so she could sit in front of him. "Hey," she said again, leaning forward to get in his field of vision. "Are you okay?"

He shrugged. "I'm fine." His voice lacked its usual rising-and-falling cadence, and his expression was devoid of feeling or animation. He wasn't grinning or laughing or smiling or smirking. He was just… blank.

"You're not," she insisted, and, under the desk, nudged his foot with her own. "Tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong." He was still looking out the window, but a faint impatience had crept into his voice.

"Kirihara, come on. Seriously. You can tell me what's bothering you. I'll help you, okay? Don't be so stubborn."

"_You're _the one that's being stubborn," he snapped, finally looking at her. His eyes were no longer faded, instead clear and bright with irritation. "I _said _nothing's wrong, and even if something was—

"It's none of your business."

They just sat there for a moment, staring at each other—An, with surprise and hurt, Kirihara with aggravation and… something else, until finally he looked down at his desk. "Just—don't talk to me, okay? Jesus."

She swallowed hard. "_Fine_." She stood abruptly, pushing the chair back with a _scrape_. A couple people turned to look. Avoiding eye-contact with anyone, she went and sat down in her seat, fuming.

What was _up_ with him? Things had been great between them the day before. Why did he always have to turn into a jerk? She'd been trying to _help _him, for God's sakes._ Go ahead and be miserable, _she thought spitefully, glaring at his back. _See if I care._

Her thoughts ran in this same vein until a bit of the hurt had faded, until her injured pride had restored itself somewhat, and she could think about it in something of an objective manner. Truth be told… she _had _been pretty pushy.

It was just—Kirihara hadn't been himself, the boy who seemed more alive than anyone she'd ever met. And that _bothered _her. She'd wanted to fix it, had tried to. Such was her nature.

What was most grating was that, up until that point, Kirihara had kind of… spoiled her, with attention. He'd always been willing to talk to her, to listen to her, to focus on her. It had been—gratifying. It had made her feel _good_. Maybe even special.

_Don't talk to me, okay?_

What would she do if he permanently revoked those attentions?

"Don't worry about it," Sayoko said during one of the breaks. An hadn't mentioned Kirihara, but—when the mahogany-haired girl wasn't being completely self-centered, she was actually reasonably perceptive.

"He just gets this way sometimes," she went on, and gestured toward the boy in question, who still sat alone, staring out the window. He'd ignored people's attempts to draw him into conversation.

"But…" An frowned. "I don't understand. I just—there has to be something I can _do_."

The blue-eyed girl shrugged. "You could hold him at gunpoint and order him to act happy, but… Kirihara's not really worth going to prison for. I guess you could hold him at squirt-gunpoint. Wouldn't be as effective, but would be more epic."

An didn't respond, and the other girl sighed. "Look. He's just—he's _moody_. I doubt anything is actually bothering him. I mean, I can't claim to have any idea what goes on in his head, but… he'll snap out of it soon enough. He always does."

And in that moment, An deeply resented the other girl for having had the opportunity to know Kirihara for years, for gaining such an insight into his behavior. For getting to be around him so much.

Then, she had to laugh at herself. Sayoko would have gladly given up any association she had to the second-year ace. The only thing they had in common, probably, was a mutual adoration for Sayoko's brother.

A sentiment she herself shared, the more she got to know the older boy.

"What's so funny?" the other girl asked, a bit defensively. Sometimes An forgot how sensitive she could be, and smiled at her.

"Nothing. Just—I don't know. Hey," she remembered suddenly, "do you ever get a certain _feel _from pudding? Like, vanilla pudding makes you feel one way, chocolate another…"

"Sure," replied the other girl, as if the question were entirely commonplace. She had a remarkably easy time keeping up with An's thought patterns. "Tapioca pudding makes me feel _old_. Like I need to chase some kids off my lawn."

"Man, I can't _wait _to be old," the chestnut-haired girl crowed. "I'll never have to listen to anyone or change my mind, because damn it, I'll have lived God knows how many years, and I'll _deserve _to be obstinate and unreasonable."

Sayoko nodded, smiling slightly. "You can say what you really think, act the way you really feel… when I'm old, I'll _do_ what I _want _when I _want_," she deadpanned, and they both laughed.

Then An remembered something else. "So are you mad at Niou-senpai?"

"Oh." The other girl slumped. "Uh… yeah. I guess. I don't even—I don't even _know_ anymore." She explained the situation to An, who couldn't help but feel bewildered and overwhelmed, just _listening_.

Whatever Niou and Sayoko had… it was complicated.

The mahogany-haired girl chewed on the nails of her left hand, bloodying them. She regarded An, her eyes large and blue and uncertain. "I'm not sure what to do," she confessed. "I'm—I want to deal with it… with Niou-senpai… in a way that's, you know.

"Strong. Mature. But…" She laughed a little, helplessly. "I don't even know what the strong, mature thing to do is, in this situation." She paused. Hesitated.

"What would _you _do?"

An blinked at her. "I… that is…"_ People really need to stop catching me off-guard. _"I'm not really sure, either," she admitted, and it was a hard thing to do. "You understand Niou-senpai a lot better than I do." An didn't understand him at _all_.

"I don't know why he would say that stuff to you. You'll just—you'll have to make him explain himself to you. He owes you that much, at least."

Sayoko switched hands, let her left one heal. "So I should go see him after school…?"

The chestnut-haired girl thought about it, thought back a few hours previous. "Actually… I think you should wait a while. Let him stew. He looked pretty pissed off when you ignored him this morning."

It was Sayoko's turn to blink. "Really?"

An grinned. "Really."

~x~

Not everyone was taking the wait-a-while approach, however. An was on her way to tennis practice when, from behind, an arm looped around her, just below her throat. Her first thought was: _Oh my God I'm being mugged where the hell is a can of mace when you need it?  
_

Then, faintly, she smelled cinnamon and pine, and her second thought was: _Just kidding._

"What do you want, Kirihara?" she grumbled, but allowed him to pull back her against his chest. Unfortunately, this necessitated that she look all the way up just to see his face.

He stared down at her, not smiling, but not frowning, either. "To talk to you."

His words from earlier ringing in her head, she countered flatly, "But you don't want _me_ to talk to _you_."

Kirihara made an aggravated noise, and released her. She turned around to face him, took a few steps back. Crossed her arms over her chest. When he didn't say anything, just eyed her almost petulantly, she needled, "Or did I hear you wrong?"

"You know you didn't," he scowled. He ran a hand through his hair, which sent a few pieces falling into his eyes. Why did that seem to bother her more than it did him? "Look, I didn't mean—what I said, it didn't come out right. Okay?"

She wouldn't let him off the hook that easily. "And how was it supposed to come out? 'Gee, An, it's really great of you to be so concerned about me.' Those are kind of hard to mix up, you know?"

He glared at her, and took a breath, as if trying to steady himself. "Look," he said again. "I meant don't talk to me because of—because of _this_." Pointedly, he gestured between them.

An pursed her lips. "I don't understand."

He rubbed his face. "Sometimes… I just want to be by myself, okay? To, I don't know. Think, I guess. But when people keep trying to talk to me anyway, I get—I get pretty annoyed. And I end up snapping at them," he went on, dropping his hands to fix her with a very intent look. "Like I snapped at you. And I don't want to _do _that, because then you get all mad, and we start fighting, and—

"And that really sucks, you know?"

It took her a moment to respond. His eyes were distractingly green. "Yeah," she said softly, finally. "I know."

"So…" he finished, seeming at a loss. "So when I don't really want to talk, can you just—let me be for a little while? So that we don't have to go through all this?"

An directed her gaze toward the ground, kicked at the grass. Nodded. "Yeah," she repeated. "Yeah. I'm—sorry I was kind of… demanding. I was just, you know, worried. 'Cause I thought you were upset."

She looked up at him then. "How do I know when you _are _upset, and when you just don't want to talk?"

He cocked his head, the curve of his lips suggesting a smile. "You'll be able to tell." He said it confidently, with the absolute surety that only a person who thought he was the exception to every rule could manage.

And, looking at him, she got it again, that bright, colorful, happy feeling. The rainbow-feeling. She clasped her hands behind her back, rocked back on her heels, with a smile that was at once warm and mischievous growing on her face. "Hey, guess what?"

He grinned at her. "What?"

Impulsively, she skipped forward to wind her arms around his torso, hugging him tightly. "You're my friend."

Again, there was that split-second of hesitation. That moment of frozen stillness.

But he hugged her back. He really did, wrapping one arm around her waist while the hand of his other arm spread across her shoulder blades, applying a light pressure. "I knew _that_," he scoffed to the top of her head.

"Oh really," she smiled into his chest. "And what _don't _you know?"

Kirihara went quiet for a long moment, before: "There _is _something I've been wondering," he told her haltingly, and let his arms fall to his sides, taking a single step back from her.

When she raised her eyebrows at him, he looked at her earnestly, took her hand in his, and went down on one knee. "Tachibana An… will you go out with me?"

She _stared_ at him, and he matched her look for look, his eyes unwavering and intense.

Until he laughed, and stood up, not bothering to brush the dirt off his pants. "Gotcha," he grinned, and bumped her hip with his, before taking off toward the tennis courts. "Better hurry up, or you'll be late to practice!" he called over his shoulder.

For a long, long moment, she just watched him go. Really just _watched _him, the oddest feeling bubbling in her chest.

And then: "Wait for _me_!" she yelled after him. "Seriously, you jerk! Wait _up_!"

They ran.

~x~

A day later, a second-year class meeting was held in the auditorium. The principal went over something boring, and An traded snarky, whispered commentary with Sayoko. Kirihara sat with Kaji and some other guys. At one point, An tried to catch his eye, only to find that his attention was already occupied. A girl in front of him was turned around in her seat, talking quietly to him.

It was the girl from the tennis match, the one who'd waved at him. He was smiling at her now, if only a little. An nudged Sayoko, pointed out the girl. "Who is that?"

Recognition dawned on her friend's face, along with something else, and she directed a cautious glance at the chestnut-haired girl before replying, "Hashimoto Yuuka." At An's prompting look, she supplied the real answer.

"Kirihara's ex-girlfriend."

* * *

AHAHAHA... uh. Lulz?

Thanks to the anonymous reviewers!

Disclaimer: I do not _Prince of Tennis_, or OneRepublic's "All We Are" (lyrics at the top).


	20. I'd Give Up Everything to Show You

**250 Dark Stars**

_(If I could be_

_Just what you need_

_Maybe we'd be better off)_

…

Later that day, Sayoko walked out of the student council room, and leaned against the wall. She'd gotten drawn into a debate, and had floundered between acting confident and superior, as her brother would have done—would have _been_—and passionately defending what she believed in, as An would have.

_Behold Yukimura Sayoko: wanna-be, pretender… faker._

She sighed. If she could only just—

Someone blew on her ear.

She yelped, opening her eyes to whirl and face Niou. "Niou-sen_pai_!" she shouted, wishing there was a way to wipe the smirk off his face. "How did you even—you—you fricking _ninja_. That wasn't even_funny_."

"It was to me," he said casually. "Little jumpy, aren't you. Got a guilty conscience? Did you beat up a girl who wore the same shade of lip gloss?"

The mahogany-haired girl ignored his idle teasing. He was still in his school uniform… "Did Oniisan cancel practice today?"

"No," he replied easily, and approached, reaching out almost as if to test her. When she stepped away from him, his face did not reveal whether she had passed or failed. "Sweetheart," was all he said, brushing by her, one hand held up in a let's-go gesture. "Come with me."

He kept on going, while she stayed rooted to the spot, heart hammering. Should she go? Should she demand that he apologize first? What would An do? Would she just scoff and walk away?

But then Niou slowed, and looked over his shoulder at her. It was a prompting glance, faintly impatient, but—he was not the type to make sure someone was coming. He would just keep walking, and if he found that someone had come along, fine. If not—he didn't really give a damn.

That he would check whether she was following… it should not have made up her mind for her. But it did.

He led her out of the building, onto one of the tree-lined paths that wound around the campus. Above them, the sky was bright and clear. Neither spoke for what seemed an eternity. Sayoko passed the time by studying the set of his shoulders, and the careless, inimitable way he walked.

She could have filled the silence. She could have told him how much it hurt, to have someone you counted on for so much try to tear you down. Could have asked him whether he wanted her to need him.

She knew he didn't _need_her to. Of course he didn't. And maybe it hadn't anything to do with her specifically—maybe he just liked being needed. Maybe he thought that if she changed, if she got stronger, she would no longer need him.

Maybe he didn't know that he would always be one of the first people she turned to, no matter what.

All of this, she could have told him. Once again, she could have shown him her heart, left it completely at his mercy. But it was his turn to be vulnerable, for goddamned _once_.

(Except he _had_been vulnerable with her, just once before. A precious, breathless moment that played out under her eyelids every night when she tried to sleep.)

They reached the garden that the horticulture club tended. Save for the two of them, it was empty. The place was orderly and tame, like and unlike her brother's garden. The heavy fragrance of it clung to her skin. Niou stopped at a shrub blooming with flowers. Azaleas, maybe. Sayoko lingered a couple steps behind, observing him, unable but to admire the line of his jaw, the hollow of his collarbones.

She could tell he'd been counting on her to open up to him, maybe even cry, so that he could call her by a pet name and pat her head and have their relationship be mended, just like that. But she hadn't, and now… it was like she could _see_him figuring out what to do, determining exactly how much he had to say to get her to forgive him, and not a word more.

_She_ wasn't even sure how much she needed to hear, but… in some ways, he knew her better than she did herself.

He started plucking at the flowers of the shrub, using those slim, blunt fingers to neatly rip off the petals one by one. _Loves me, loves me not._But it wasn't like that—he went on to systematically tear the petals to shreds.

Perhaps he was simply inclined to destroying lovely things.

Finally, he spoke. "I won't apologize."

She drifted closer, watched his hands move, watched them reduce the flowers to bright scraps that decorated the ground by his feet. "I know."

With fingertips stained pink, he tilted her chin up. She held her breath. "I was mean to you," he began, his voice clear, though, as always, low. She couldn't imagine him ever caring about something enough to shout. The word _Because_formed on his lips, but he seemed to decide not to say it, not to explain his motives to her.

Maybe he knew what she suspected. Maybe she was even right.

"Even when I'm mean to you," he said, starting up on a different track, "I don't necessarily want to _hurt_you. Do you understand that?"

He _had_meant to hurt her, a few days ago. Had meant to cut her down, reduce her to a compliant little girl that needed and depended on him. But he was speaking generally, so she nodded.

"You're just hurt so easily," he told her, and there was something like weariness in his eyes, or exasperation. Resignation. "And if you stay with me, you'll keep getting hurt. I don't have the patience to give you special treatment all the time." Almost absently, he rubbed his thumb over her chin. "I'm not gentle."

All of that was true, of course. But—

"You can be," she pointed out softly. "And… I'm learning. Trying. To be less sensitive. I don't need special treatment." _I need you._"I just… I just need you to not make it any harder." She hesitated. "But if you don't want me to stay around you…"

He drew his hand back, and sounded somewhat amused as he told her, "I am selfish, Sayoko."

She hadn't followed that train of thought, but— "So am I."

That prompted an actual smile, small but true, and he inclined his head in acknowledgment, before picking another flower. He held it in his hand for a moment, and she thought he might give it to her.

Instead, he tore it into a million pieces, and, still smiling, sprinkled them over her head, letting them settle in her hair like sweet-smelling pink confetti. Sayoko just stood there, heat rising in her cheeks, unable to think of anything to say or do. Unable to do anything but stare at the boy whose eyes gleamed like secrets.

He looked like he wanted to laugh, but instead strolled away toward the tennis courts. Despite being over an hour late, his pace was relaxed and unhurried. She was captivated by the way his hips rolled when he walked.

And—and she had a lot of flaws, it was true. But she could not be accused of self-denial.

_I have a crush on Niou-senpai._

She clenched her teeth to stifle a scream of frustration, and balled her hands up into fists, petals fluttering to the ground as she flailed around like a child throwing a tantrum. As if she could work off the sudden,_awful_ realization, could burn it from her body like fat.

_I have a crush on Niou-senpai,_she thought again. And then, vehemently:

_Fuck. My. Life._

~x~

"I have to transfer schools."

_That_woke An up. She'd been sitting with Sayoko in homeroom, her head bobbing up and down as she dozed. At his desk, Kirihara was out cold—he rivaled Sayoko in the sleep-like-a-dead-person department. "_Seriously?_Are you moving?"

Miserably, the other girl shook her head. "I _wish_. I just—I can't ever show my face around here again. _Ever._It's so—it's _horrible_." She hid her face in her hands, but An could still see that her cheeks were bright red. "It's the _worst_thing that could ever happen to me."

An's eyes widened. "What? What happened? Are you okay? Have people been—did Tsujiai—"

"No, no. Nothing like that—nothing that easy to deal with. I just—" She dropped her hands from her face, looked up at the ceiling like she was appealing to the mercy of God. "Nevermind. It's humiliating. I don't want to talk about it."

"Sayoko," An persisted. "Come on. What could possibly be that bad?"

"You have _no_idea," the other girl laughed bleakly, and then: "Seriously. I don't wanna talk about it. Let's talk about cheese. Do you like cheese? 'Cause I like cheese. It's just—it's really cheesy, you know?" She gestured halfheartedly with her hands.

"… Yeah." The chestnut-haired girl considered pressing her friend to explain, but she was learning that sometimes it was better not to push people.

During lunch, they went to buy juiceboxes from the school store, and Sayoko kept peeking around corners and hiding behind people, obviously trying to avoid someone. But who? Niou? Still, An kept her mouth shut, having decided not to pry, at least for the time being.

As they returned to class, she spotted the girl Sayoko had identified as Kirihara's ex-girlfriend—Hashimoto Yuuka. Unfortunately, she ended up making eye-contact with said girl, who smiled and approached the pair, her steps light and ambling.

"Hi," she said brightly to An. "Sorry if this is weird—I just thought I'd say hello. You're Akaya-kun's friend, right? I've seen you with him a couple times."

"Um," said An. _Note to self: Diversify vocabulary._"Yeah. Yeah, hi. I'm Tachibana An. It's nice to meet you."

"Same," she replied, perfectly pleasant and friendly. Then she turned to Sayoko, and her face grew slightly, slightly wary. Perhaps she was intimidated by the other girl's beauty, or by whose sister she was. Or maybe by the cool, regal expression the blue-eyed girl had assumed.

—Regardless of the fact that she'd just taken a noisy slurp from her juicebox.

"Yukimura-san," Hashimoto greeted. "How are you? We haven't talked since you left for America."

"Hashimoto-san," the mahogany-haired girl returned, her voice neither warm nor cold. "I'm fine. How are you?"

"I'm good," was her cheerful response, and there was something of an awkward pause, before: "Well, anyway. I'll let you guys get back to class. See you around." With another smile, she wandered off.

An took a long, thoughtful sip from her juicebox. "So that was Hashimoto-san, huh," she said slowly. "Do you like her?"

At that, Sayoko looked speculative. After a moment she answered, "I don't _dis_like her."

The chestnut-haired girl considered that for a while. Finally she said, "She's pretty." On that matter, she hadn't actually made up her mind, but that was what girls said when they didn't know what else to say about other girls—ones that they didn't hate, anyway.

Her friend just shrugged.

~x~

Later that afternoon, An raced to the tennis courts, her bag banging against her leg with every stride. Practice had already started, but her English teacher had had her stay late to discuss her grade (which was not good) and her classroom behavior (which revolved around trying not to get caught dozing).

Rikkai was just so _demanding_, the academics as well as the extracurriculars. Her time and effort were divided between school and tennis, and she knew that if she didn't become better at time-management, she would have to pick one of them. And choosing tennis over school would not be wise, not if she wanted her parents to continue to love her.

She skidded down to the courts, and threw her hands up in the air. "I'm here!" To her dismay, no one applauded—but that might have been because nobody was there. The girls' tennis complex was empty.

Bewildered, she went into the clubhouse, expecting the whole team to jump out and yell "Surprise!" Alas, no one was in there, either. Digging her phone out of her bag, she texted Kiko: **no practice today? :o**

The other girl's reply was: **at boys courts. hurry!**

At the _boys'_courts? Hastily, she changed into her uniform, hopping around on one leg as she pulled her skort up. Maybe the girls and boys were having a showdown to determine who got to use _all_the school's courts.

Or maybe they were throwing her a party. She hoped someone had made balloon-animals.

After a headlong dash to the boys' courts, she found that was not the case. The boys and girls seemed to be practicing together, stretching and warming up. The swarming mass of kids in yellow was overwhelming, but maybe that meant no one had noticed she'd been late.

Glancing from side to side, she sidled over to the giant heap of bags, dropped hers there, and with ninja-like stealth, crept toward one of the lines of people stretching. Carefully, carefully… almost there…

"Tachibana-kun, what do you think you're doing?"

She winced, turned around. There stood Yukimura, his arms crossed over his chest and his eyebrows raised expectantly. "Creeping around in stealth-mode so that no one will notice I'm late," she mumbled, helpless but to tell him the truth.

With a straight face and smiling eyes, he told her, "I would recommend either improving your stealth-mode or abandoning it completely. A sub-par one only draws attention to what you're trying to hide. Consider that as you run thirty-five laps—twenty to warm up, fifteen for being late."

"Or," she suggested, "I could run the twenty laps, and give you a piece of gum." A moment later: "… Yeahhhh, I'll just go run those laps, now…" She hurried off, started jogging around the courts. Most everyone else had already finished their laps and moved on to other things.

Then Kirihara came up on her left, matching his strides to hers. He grinned at her, completely unaffected by the physical exertion. "You were late too, huh?"

"I hate English," was her grumbled response. "Why are the girls and boys practicing together, anyway?"

"Your captain isn't here today, and your vice-captain said something about it being too much work to run a team by herself. And Yukimura-buchou thinks it's good to practice with different people once in a while." His sneer was friendly. "Not that _girls_count, but hey."

"_You_don't count as an example of humans being more intelligent than sheep, but I don't hold that against _you_." With an impish smile, she messed with his wildly curly, surprisingly soft, hair. "Though you _feel_like a sheep. Who's a cute little sheep? Who is? _You_are!"

Once he'd chased her down and (gently) beaten her up until she'd taken it back—and an irate Sanada had assigned them ten more laps for roughhousing—they ran without talking. The silence was comfortable, companionable, and so An wasn't sure why she broke it to say, "So I met your ex-girlfriend today."

Kirihara missed a step, almost stumbled. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. She asked me to slap you for her." He cast her a suspicious, slightly wary look, as if considering moving out of her range, and she laughed. "Kidding. Maybe. She just—I don't know. Came up and said hi."

He was quiet for a little while, his face expressing nothing in particular. Then: "Yeah," he said finally. Almost ruefully. "That sounds like something she would do."

At that, An fell silent, wondering—How long had he dated Hashimoto? How close had they been? Why had they broken up? Who had broken up with whom? She would have to ask Sayoko.

Eventually she said, "Well, I'm still waiting to meet your mother. Also, your parole officer. I feel like we would be tight."

"Gonna have to take a rain-check on that," he replied easily, still not the slightest bit strained by the running, though An was starting to get a stitch in her side. "He went off to find himself. Or Atlantis. Whichever one he stumbles across first."

"So you're unsupervised, huh? Have you resorted back to a life of juvenile delinquency?"

"Do you even have to _ask_?" he scoffed. "Last night I made a rude gesture at a nun, and then I mugged an old lady. It was _awesome_."

She brightened. "Oh my God, I mugged an old lady last night _too_! Did she have gray hair? And wrinkles? And cat hair all over her sweater?"

"Dude, _yes_. I bet we mugged the same one, just at different times."

"Must have been a bad night for her," she mused as they completed their final lap. She breathed in through her nose, out through her mouth. In, out, in, out. She hated that his stamina was better than hers. "You really can't trust teenagers these days."

"Tell me about it," he said solemnly, and started to say something else, before his eyes widened a bit at something over her shoulder. An found that Sanada was there.

"Tachibana," the third-year said shortly, a racquet in his hand. "You're with me." Without waiting for a reply, he turned with almost military precision and walked toward an unused court. An glanced at Kirihara.

"He means Yukimura-buchou assigned you to be fukubuchou's warm-up partner," the green-eyed boy grinned, bumping his hip to hers. "Better you than me."

"But I—"

"Tachibana!" Sanada was already at the baseline, ready to play. He did not look pleased. Or patient. Or like he'd ever smiled once in his whole life.

"Sorry, Sanada-senpai," she called, cringing. "I'm coming." Desperately, she shot Kirihara a save-me look, but the bastard just kept grinning at her, so she hastened to where the vice-captain was waiting for her. They started off with groundstrokes, and because they were only warming up, Sanada kept his shots heavy and sharp, but manageable. She shouldn't have had any problems.

But he was so _intimidating_, and she was so anxious to prove herself that it seemed as if she dumped every shot into the net. Each time she messed up, she grimaced, expecting to be berated, but the older boy never said a word, just came up with another ball.

That made it _worse_, that calm acceptance of her suckiness. Like he was unsurprised by how badly she was doing, and didn't even think the matter important enough to yell at her about. Like he was just counting down the minutes until he could go play someone halfway decent.

She sent another forehand straight into the net, and almost threw her racquet, she was so frustrated and embarrassed and _angry_. Couldn't he at least respect her enough to criticize her, for God's sakes?

An forced herself to take a breath. She had to give him a _reason_to respect her. She had to wipe that indifferent, just-this-side-of-disdainful expression off his face.

Or at least get the ball over the net.

When they started rallying again, she focused on the fundamentals. _Move your feet, watch the ball._Now that she'd calmed down some, found a new determination, her shots became cleaner, smoother. They went where they were _supposed_to.

Sanada, of course, noticed this, and began hitting harder. Soon practically all his shots touched the lines, they were so accurate. He kept pushing her and pushing her, running her from side to side, and finally she reached her limit, could only watch as he sent a cross-court backhand hurtling past her.

Disgruntled and drained, she made a face, and snuck a glance at his. It was hard to tell, especially from that distance, but it seemed as if he might have been—certainly not _impressed_, but… she didn't know. Like he at least _acknowledged_her as a tennis player. Or at least as someone able to swing a racquet in a reasonably skilled fashion.

They traded volleys, and serves, and when they finally walked off the court, the hazel-eyed youth spared her a nod. She'd been hoping he would tip his hat to her, but would take what she could get. "Nice forehand."

She beamed at him. "Thanks!" His eyebrows drew together, and she sobered. "I mean…" She dropped her voice low, made it brusque and manly. "Thanks." He just stared at her, so she gave up. "Yeah. I'm gonna go… yeah. Thank you for warming up with me, senpai."

And then she trotted off, looking for either Shimizu or Yukimura to further instruct her as to what to do. As she passed the clubhouse, a hand shot out and caught her arm, and she almost screamed before she realized it was Sayoko. The other girl drew her behind a hedge.

"What are you _doing_?" An pushed a branch out of her face. "Digging for treasure?"

"I'm hiding. Can you tell my brother that I'll be waiting in the library until practice is finished, and that I'll meet him there?" The mahogany-haired girl looked tense, uneasy. Maybe even nauseous.

"Why can't _you_tell him? Why are you hiding? Work with me here, Sayoko. I like espionage-type situations as much as the next person, but I need to know the reason behind them." Also, theme-music. They needed theme-music.

"I just—" Her friend took a breath, a dull flush rising in her cheeks. "I just can't risk seeing Niou-senpai right now." She grimaced. "Or like. Ever."

An frowned. "Are you still mad at him?" When the other girl shook her head glumly, the chestnut-haired girl shook her own in bewilderment. "Then why can't you see him? And why are you blushing? It's not like you _like_him, for Christ's sakes."

A moment passed, and then: "Oh. My God. You _like_him!"

"Shut _up_," Sayoko hissed, "shut up shut up shut _up_!" Her gaze darted around anxiously as her flush grew more pronounced. "I _don't_. I just—it's not that—" She buried her face in her hands. "Why did this have to happen to me," she moaned. "As if my life _needed_to get worse."

An fiddled with her hair. "It can't be that bad, can it? I mean, so what if you have a crush on Niou-senpai. So does like, at least one-fourth of the school's female population."

"But they don't have to be _around_him. They won't get mocked about it for the rest of their lives! And—this ruins _everything_. I mean, he's Niou-senpai, _my_Niou-senpai, and—" She sighed, looking absolutely miserable. "I'm gonna go sit in the library and feel sorry for myself. You'll tell my brother?"

"That you like Niou-senpai?" The glare Sayoko shot her made An feel like she'd been stabbed in the gut with an icicle. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding." She held up her hands in appeasement. "I'll tell him where you'll be."

"Thanks," the other girl mumbled, peeking out from the hedge. Once it seemed the coast was clear, she darted out, rounding the corner of the clubhouse and disappearing from sight. As innocuously as she could, An stepped into the open, picking a leaf out of her hair.

Just as Shimizu accosted her, talking a mile a minute. "There you are! I've been looking all over for you and that stupid Sanada was being _no_help at all and—" She blinked. "Why did you just come out of that hedge?"

"Oh," said An. "Oh. Um, I dropped my glasses."

"You don't wear glasses."

… _Damn it._"Because I dropped them," the chestnut-haired girl said slowly. "I don't wear glasses because I dropped them." She paused. "It makes sense if you don't think about it."

"Fair enough," the blond girl shrugged, and sent her off to do drills. Ten minutes later, An had just completed a backhand-volley when Niou, with a lazy tilt of his head, motioned for her to join him between the courts.

She trudged over, regarding him warily. He was definitely good-looking, but beyond that, she had no idea what Sayoko—or all the other girls—saw in him. He was just so aloof. Like he didn't give a damn about anything or anyone. She frowned. Maybe it really _was_bad that Sayoko liked him.

The silver-haired boy did not waste time on pleasantries. "Where is she?"

"… Who?"

"Your mom." Where Kirihara's sneer had been playful, Niou's was disparaging. "Sayoko, of course. Who else would I be talking about?"

She'd walked right into that one. Deception was not her forte. At least she only _thought_ about saying "I don't know this Sayoko of whom you speak," and actually said, "She's… around. In the library," she admitted, because it wasn't like he could leave practice to go there.

Those sharp, careful eyes held her in place. "Is she all right?" Neither his expression nor his voice betrayed a hint of concern, at least not to her. Sayoko might have detected it.

But just that he'd _asked_—that was telling. "Yeah," she said softly. "Yeah, she's okay." Aside from being almost hysterical about crushing on the boy standing before An. But she figured she could leave that part out.

"Who is? My sister?" Yukimura came up, flicking his hand to dismiss the two second-years that had been trailing him. He stopped before An, glanced at Niou.

"Sayoko," she confirmed, feeling caught between a rock and a hard place. But if she owed her loyalty to anyone, it was to Yukimura. "Niou-senpai was just wondering where she was, and whether she was okay." In an is-that-so manner, Yukimura raised his eyebrows at the silver-haired boy, who only shrugged, offered a two-fingered salute, and strolled away.

Yukimura then looked back at An, who just blinked at him owlishly. "Wanna see a card-trick?"

~x~

Practice ran later than normal, which meant Hiyono had already left for their apartment complex, so An walked to the school gate with Kirihara. "I don't wanna go home," she mumbled. "It's so _empty_. It's just me, and the microwave heating up takeout." Her aunt was working late. _Again._

Kirihara blinked at her, brushed a finger under his nose. "Yeah? My parents had some dinner thing to go to, so I have to like. Feed myself." He scowled, until something seemed to occur to him. After a moment's consideration of her, he said, "Let's go."

He started out in a direction opposite the one he lived in, and, curious, she followed. "Are we going on an adventure?"

"Do I _look_like I'm wearing my Indiana Jones hat? We'll go on an adventure some other time," he told her. "Right now we're just going somewhere where we can eat and you can do my math homework for me."

"Uh, yeah. How about I'll _help_you with your math, and you'll help me with my biology?" The black-haired boy was rather good at science.

"We'll work out an agreement. I'll have my people call your people."

"Can the agreement involve you not _walking so fast_? Seriously," she grumbled. "My legs are tired."

He stopped, tilted his head at her. "Want me to give you a piggyback ride?" At her ecstatic expression, he laughed, a sound as sudden and colorful as fireworks. "You are so _gullible_. Really, it's kind of pathetic. Come on," he said, almost warmly, putting a hand on her back to propel her forward.

"I hate you," she sulked, and they argued about which one of them hated the other more until they got to a place that served ramen. They sat, and they ate, and they did their homework. He told her about his sister, who was in art school. She told him about the time she ran away from home, taking only a bouncy-ball and a chewable vitamin with her.

Studying him, she couldn't help but smile to herself. The dim lighting of the restaurant got lost in the dark of his hair, or maybe it just got absorbed into his eyes—they seemed brighter, if that was possible. Maybe just because he kept laughing.

Maybe just because he kept looking at her.

* * *

Thank you to everyone who reviewed. You guys are tight, f'real. Like, the least loose people I have ever known.

Disclaimer: I do not own _Prince of Tennis_, or Green River Ordinance's "Learning" (lyrics at the top).


	21. She is Right in Front of You

**250 Dark Stars**

_(There are certain people_

_You just keep coming back to_

_She is right in front of you)_

…

"Your cat is possessed," An complained, holding her foot up as said creature eyed her leg like it was a scratching-post. It was Saturday, and, after the half-day of school and tennis practice, she'd walked home with Sayoko and her brother, though the latter had left to meet Sanada and Yanagi somewhere.

"He is not." Sayoko grabbed Wimble before he could swipe at An, and held him up to her face. "Who isn't possessed? Who isn't? _You _aren't, oh no, you aren't, oh no no—" The cat went to bite her, and Sayoko screeched, flinging him away. He landed on his feet and, with a last contemptuous glance, sauntered off.

The blue-eyed girl glared after him, shaking her fist in the air. "Yeah? We'll see who has the last laugh! Guess who's not opening your can of food tonight? _Me._ And you can't open it yourself, can you? No, you can't, Mr. No-Opposable-Thumbs. So _suck _it."

"You really showed him," An laughed, taking a sip from lemonade. It was around one-thirty, and they were making lunch. Sayoko was, anyway. An was "supervising."

The other girl muttered something that could have been "I hate cats" or "Kuwait slacks," and began extracting things from the cupboards. She'd promised to make a dish that her American host mother had taught her. An wandered into the living room. There was a portrait of the whole family, very formal, but most featured only the children. In one, they wore traditional clothing, and in another they both held tennis racquets.

She drifted into a small room she'd never been in before, and found it to be a study, complete with bookshelves, a desk, and even a piano. "Sayoko?" she called, running her fingertips over the keys. "Have you been hiding your musical talent from me?"

The mahogany-haired girl popped her head in, then entered completely. "Nope. I mean, I can play a little. Our parents had us take lessons." She took a seat on the bench, plinked away at a simple tune, and shrugged. "My brother's much better than me. Not, of course, that that's surprising."

"Hey, you play better than I do," An reasoned, trying to make her friend feel better. "I can't play any instrument. Unless the racquet-guitar counts, which it so totally should."

"I feel like it does," Sayoko smiled. She rose to go back to the kitchen, and the chestnut-haired girl followed. "You definitely have a career in that. You should take your talent on the road."

"You read my mind! Wanna be my manager?"

"Sure." The other girl started boiling a pot of water, while on a separate burner she already had some vegetables sautéing. "I've already got a slogan: 'Come see the great Tachibana An perform! She can't sing, and she can't play an instrument, but damn, can she pretend to.'"

"We will make _millions_," An crowed, and they discussed opening acts—a lion-tamer or a mime? Maybe a lion-taming mime?—until the other girl declared the food done. "How can you tell?" An asked. The vegetables and pasta looked the same as they had five minutes ago.

"They just—I don't know. The texture, and whatnot." Sayoko got two plates down, and turned to her curiously. "Do you not cook much?"

"Not at all, really," the chestnut-haired girl admitted, setting the table with napkins and Western utensils. "My mom tried to teach me, sure, but my brother was the one who actually _liked _doing it, so mostly I just cleaned up." At the thought of her brother, of her _family_, she felt a pang, but dismissed it, as had become habitual.

On cue, Sayoko began talking about koala bears. As distractions went, it was a welcome one.

~x~

When Yukimura, accompanied by Sanada and Yanagi, returned, the two girls were sitting on the living room floor, painting their nails (what were left of Sayoko's, anyway) and watching the fourth _Harry Potter _movie. Once all the required greetings were over with, An grinned at them. "Anyone want me to paint their nails? I'm almost done with mine."

Sayoko stifled a snicker, and Sanada gave no response, though something about his general demeanor darkened. Yanagi declined placidly, and Yukimura just smiled at her. "That's kind of you, but I'll pass as well."

The boys walked past them, toward the stairs, and Sayoko bit her lip, before venturing, "Oniisan?" Paused with his hand on the banister, her brother raised an eyebrow at her. "Do you guys want to play a board game with us?"

Yukimura himself did not seem to object to the idea, and Yanagi appeared intrigued, but both of them, with an air of amused expectation, turned to Sanada. The vice-captain obviously would have rather stabbed himself in the eye, but could not bring himself to go against decorum by refusing.

Yanagi, ever tactful, devised a compromise. "Why don't I play _Go _with Genichirou, and you can play something else with your sister and Tachibana-kun, Seiichi."

The two girls couldn't decide what that "something else" should be, and so ended up combining _Life_, _Clue_, and _Guess Who? _into one giant, elaborate, confusing game, the rules of which they made up on the spot.

"And it all ends when we fight to the death," An finished with relish.

"Your bloodthirsty nature is somewhat alarming," Yukimura murmured, his eyes glinting wickedly. "I suppose I should just be happy that you express it through board games, and not, say, gun-fights."

"She tried," Sayoko deadpanned, "but she brought a knife, instead of a gun."

"It's true," the chestnut-haired girl laughed. "It didn't end well for me."

They played, and they had fun, and An couldn't help but marvel at how content she felt at the Yukimuras' house. Couldn't help but wonder at how well she fit in with people she never would have dreamed of being with—the Three Demons and the girl who'd seemed too lovely and mean to be real.

But the tranquility didn't last. Because An was spending the night, Yukimura mentioned something about what time the three of them would head to the tournament grounds in the morning, and Sayoko mumbled that she wouldn't be going.

An knew that was to avoid Niou—but Yukimura didn't. "Why not?" He posed it like an inquiry, but it had the force of a demand. "Mom and Dad won't be home tomorrow, and you know they don't like you spending the day here by yourself."

Sayoko fiddled with the dice, clearly restraining herself from messing up her French manicure by chewing on her nails. "I just—I have a lot of homework," she muttered evasively. The corners of her mouth were tight, and a flush had risen in her cheeks.

"Tachibana-kun must have the same homework." An averted her eyes, just as Sanada and Yanagi were suddenly even more intent on their game. None of them wanted to be drawn into the siblings' dispute. "You can do it tonight," Yukimura went on. "I'll help you both with it."

"But I—" Sayoko cut herself off, glanced at her brother and then away. "I just—"

"Give me a good reason." Yukimura's voice was calm, level, but there was a warning in it, clear as day and threatening as the shake of a rattlesnake's tail. "Give me one good reason, Sayoko."

An waited with dread for her friend to huff something along the lines of "I just don't _want _to," and for the situation to devolve into a fight that would end with Yukimura aggravated and Sayoko distraught.

But it didn't happen. There was a tense, shaky moment where it might have, but—Sayoko steadied herself. She steadied herself, and she took a deep breath, and finally she said, "I'll go."

The slight pause between that statement and Yukimura's reply of "I'm glad" was the only indication that he was just as surprised as An felt. But by the way one corner of his mouth curved up, she thought maybe—

Maybe he was as pleased by it as she was.

~x~

"Okay, seriously? Are you _trying _to make me feel bad about myself?" An demanded the next morning. Sayoko wore a white halter-dress that hugged her torso but fanned out from her hips, and in her hair a scarlet silk flower was pinned. The effect was stunning.

"Uh." The blue-eyed girl blinked. "No. Sorry?"

"Don't be," the chestnut-haired girl mumbled, though sulkily, as she was stuck wearing her yellow uniform. But she knew that the other girl used her beauty both offensively and defensively, and that she needed every advantage she had. "So what are you going to do, anyway?" she asked quietly. "When you see Niou-senpai." They were in the kitchen, waiting for Yukimura.

Sayoko colored, looked down. "Plan A was to change my name and move to Azerbaijan, but there were some logistical difficulties," she said under her breath. "So I—I don't know. I'll never be able to treat him the same way again, but—but God, it's not like I can _confess _to him. You know?"

An did. To the best of her knowledge (the rumors and gossip she'd heard), Niou didn't date—apparently he got bored with girls too quickly—but he _did _mess around. She bit her lip. Surely he would do nothing of the sort with his captain's little sister.

And… she suspected he _cared _for Sayoko too much to use and discard her.

She didn't know what to say, and so was relieved when Yukimura entered, and offered them a slight smile. "Ready?" They nodded, and set out for the train station. The tournament grounds for Prefecturals were different than those used for Districts, and farther away.

As they walked, An cast a sheepish look at Yukimura. "Sorry to make you get there this early, senpai." The sun was still rising in the sky, and Sayoko hugged her bare arms to her sides.

"It's not a problem at all," he returned, his countenance relaxed and confident. With that day's win, his team would be one step closer to the Kantou finals, and then, the Nationals. "I like getting there early. It gives me a chance to wander around."

She considered that as they rode the train. As captain, Yukimura remained on the bench for the entirety of his team's match, coaching and watching for things to be improved upon. It was his choice, one she was sure he would always make, but it probably got frustrating.

They arrived with time to spare, and the older boy took them to a nearby coffeeshop, buying green tea and a Danish for Sayoko, coffee and a bagel for himself, and coffee and a muffin for An.

She bit into it happily, and sang as they entered the grounds, "Muffin muffin muffin, I'm eating a muffin, muffin muffin muffin, I wish I was a puffin!" She beamed at the Yukimura siblings, who sported identical looks of skeptical amusement. "That was my muffin song. Pretty great, right?"

"I would advise you to stick to your day job," Yukimura said delicately, and touched her head to show that he meant it affectionately. Sayoko just laughed a little.

An tilted her face upwards, like a leaf stretching toward the Sun, and smiled.

~x~

The team they played that day was pretty good. Not Rikkai-good, of course, but worthy of some respect, and An worked for her 6 – 2, 6 – 3 win. "You came in to the net more, which is good," Fuyumi commented later. "But you let her draw you into long rallies."

"I'll do better, Fuyumi-buchou," the chestnut-haired girl replied, head bowed. Obedience and deference were so deeply ingrained in team-dynamics, she couldn't imagine doing anything else, and Fuyumi was not even particularly charismatic—God forbid having Yukimura as her captain.

Once dismissed, she skipped away, searching for Kirihara. She could have texted him, but tracking him down was more fun. She spoke into the handle of her racquet like it was a tape-recorder.

"Day forty-two," she muttered, walking past a concessions stands, and ignoring the weirded-out looks thrown her way. "Still no sign of the elusive Green-Eyed Jerk. Losing hope, and more importantly, completely out of food. Have already been forced to eat my cameraman…"

A flash of yellow caught her eye, and she turned to see a familiar head of curly hair. "I've spotted him," she hissed into her racquet, making sure to keep out of his line of sight as she approached. "This shit's about to get real. The Green-Eyed Jerk is known to be aggressive when startled, but I need the element of surprise if I'm ever going to catch him."

She advanced on him stealthily. He was standing by a tree, texting. His back was to her. "Have to stay calm," she whispered. "He can smell fear." She tucked the racquet inside her bag, and advanced on him. Once she was within five feet—

"Gotcha!" She flung herself onto his back, wrapping her arms around his neck. He startled, twisting around, arms raised as if to pry her off and shove her to the ground. She ended up hanging onto his left side, and once he saw it was her, he looked torn between laughing and scowling.

She lifted her chin at him in a very blasé way. "Oh hey. 'Sup, man."

"You are a _lunatic_," he told her, tucking his phone away and unclasping her hands from around his neck. She let herself slide to the ground. "I was about to beat the shit out of you, you know?" Still, he was grinning.

"I would have taken you," she said breezily. "I ate my own fricking cameraman—there's no way I'd let him die in vain."

He shot her a dubious look, sneering, "What the hell are you _on_?" His lips were curled back in amusement and incredulity, and his hair was falling in his eyes, and she just couldn't _help _it. She hugged him, squeezing his waist tightly. Kirihara seemed somewhat exasperated, but put one arm around her shoulders anyway, and she didn't fight her happiness, simple and bright and colorful.

"Are we going to be doing this hugging thing a lot?" the black-haired boy wanted to know. "'Cause, not gonna lie, it kinda makes me look like a pansy. I gotta keep up my street-rep."

She took a moment to breathe him in, then stepped away. "Well," she mused, "we could stage a fight. I could like, call you out in front of a bunch of people, and then you could pretend to start beating on me."

"Or I could _actually _beat on you," he pointed out, smirking.

"Uhhh, yeah, but I don't like that plan as much," she admitted. "Maybe—"

"Hey guys," a blithe voice broke in, and they turned to find Hashimoto Yuuka. She was wearing brown shorts and a loose, filmy blouse with a white tank top under it, and she stopped to blink at them. "Oh, my bad. Did I interrupt something?"

"Oh," said An, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. "Oh… no. It's nice to see you again, Hashimoto-san." Kirihara just stood there with a peculiar expression.

"Same," the other girl replied. Her hands were clasped behind her back. "I wanted to congratulate you on your win. Heard it wasn't even close."

"Well—yeah. I mean, kind of. It's—thanks." _Damn it. _She tried to change the subject quickly. "Do you play any sports?" _Smooth, Tachibana. Very smooth. _Still, it could have been worse. She could have brought up dolphins.

"Nah," the brown-eyed girl laughed. "I could never focus on one activity. All the time, and work—I really don't know how you do it." She turned to her ex-boyfriend. "Akaya-kun," she chirped. "Good luck today. I'll be cheering."

"Okay," was all he said, but it seemed enough for her, and with a small wave to both of them, she drifted away, toward a few girls that were waiting nearby. They might have been the same ones from last weekend's match.

An glanced up at Kirihara. He seemed mostly unfazed by the encounter, if slightly bemused. "So," she began, but didn't know what to say next. She came up with, "She seems nice."

"Sure," he shrugged, and started walking toward the court the boys were slotted for. The chestnut-haired girl lengthened her strides to fall into step beside him.

"Really," she went on, unsure of why she was pressing the issue. "It looks like you two get along pretty well."

"Uh huh," he responded, and she could tell that he wasn't keen on the topic of conversation.

Which really, _really _begged the question of why she asked, "So why did you guys break up?"

"None of your business." His tone was final, unapologetic, even a little harsh. An went stiff, her efforts to keep pace with him forgotten, and quickly distance grew between them. God, she'd just been _asking_. Friends discussed their relationships all the time. Why did the stupid jerk turn on her like that?

_Unfair, _commented a voice in her mind. He'd made it clear that he didn't want to talk about it, but she'd pushed him anyway. Apparently the lesson from last time hadn't quite stuck. And… it _wasn't _any of her business. If he didn't want to talk about it, he didn't have to, but he _still _could have been nicer about it.

Then again, she was familiar with him enough to know that he hadn't meant to be rude, just frank. He didn't mince words or beat around the bush, not for the sake of someone's feelings.

Not even hers.

As she thought, her speed dropped until she was all but standing still, and finally Kirihara came to a halt. "Tachibana. There's grass you can stare at by the court, too. Come _on_. I'm waiting." And he was, which was a lesson she'd learned before, as well—the green-eyed boy expressed himself through actions. He was waiting for her, for no other reason but that he wanted to walk with her.

She sighed, rubbed her face. Why did this have to be so _difficult_, and complicated? How could one boy rewire the way she thought about herself and others?

She didn't have an answer, so she just jogged to catch up. They walked in silence for a moment, before he bumped his hips to hers, and—and it was just so _hard_ to be angry at him. She grinned at him, and he grinned back.

~x~

Sayoko set aside the book she'd been pretending to read, glanced to the left of her. An and Kirihara, each with one earbud, were sitting side by side, their heads ducked together as they listened to music. Occasionally, one would murmur something to the other, and both would laugh.

And she _envied _them, coveted their companionship, their closeness. Jealousy churned in her stomach, dark and sick and ugly, but it went ignored. She owed An so much, and would never do anything to damage a relationship that was so important to her friend.

Shifting to take note of Hashimoto, she decided that she wouldn't let anyone else ruin that relationship, either. Whether that was the brown-eyed girl's intent, she didn't know, but if it was—she had another thing coming.

Suddenly the crowd started cheering, and Sayoko turned back around to see that Niou and Yagyuu had just won Doubles 2. While the pair stood before her brother for criticism, she chewed on her nails, entirely heedless of her manicure.

That morning had been the first time since she'd encountered Niou since acknowledging her feelings for him. Upon seeing him, she'd ducked behind her brother, mumbled "Hello" to the ground, and pretended to be absorbed in the mysteries of older boy hadn't pushed her, hadn't pried—maybe because her brother had been there, maybe because he just didn't care.

But a couple minutes later, she'd made eye-contact with him, and he'd shot her something of a scornful look. Which wasn't particularly significant; he'd looked at her like that many times. In fact, that was what had appalled her—the familiarity of his disdain, the constancy of his contempt.

She was dismayed because she'd _earned _that derision, deserved it for being weak and spineless. For acting like a child, for hiding and making excuses. For not being strong.

And just like that, she'd realized that she couldn't keep avoiding Niou, not for something as dumb as having a crush on him. She'd promised him that she would become strong, and so…

She had to do the mature thing.

Stepping down from the bleachers as if lining up before a firing-squad, she met An's inquisitive gaze. The other girl's eyes darted between her and Niou, who was exiting the court. Sayoko offered her a grim smile, and approached the silver-haired boy, who was zipping his racquet into his bag. "Niou-senpai."

"What is it?" He sounded bored. Yet somehow, she doubted he actually was.

It was an unseasonably hot day, the sun beating down on her hair and bare shoulders, and she watched as a bead of sweat rolled from his hairline to his jaw. He just watched her, making no move to wipe it away. She swallowed. "Senpai," she said again, and, impulsively, took his hand. "Come walk with me." She tugged slightly, hyperaware of the warmth and texture of his hand.

—Until he pulled it away, placed it in his pocket. When Niou wanted physical contact, he initiated it. When he didn't, he ended it. That was the way he was, and she had to blush at how daring and presumptuous she'd been.

Still, with a muttered "Don't get bossy, sweetie," he followed her, and for that, she was grateful. It was a huge, daunting task to say what she needed to say in front of _him_, much less in front of bleachers full of her schoolmates.

They walked the grounds in silence. She had to tell him, tell him, just _tell _him, say the words just _say _them already. But they were stuck in her throat. Just when she was about to give it up as a lost cause, the two came across a willow tree, similar to the one in her host family's yard, back in Virginia. The memory of those days, of being confident and in-control, gave her the strength to speak.

Except… when she turned to look at Niou, he was just watching her with those eyes of his—reflective like mirrors, gleaming like secrets. Ghost-eyes. And just like that, her words dried up.

Because—because he _knew_. He knew that she had a crush on him. She could tell just by looking at him, as he could discern her feelings for him just by looking at her, by _knowing _her. It was in the tilt of his head, the set of his mouth, just as she was sure it was in her eyes. The damning truth.

And… and really, it shouldn't have changed anything. She'd been avoiding him for precisely that reason. But to be faced with his carefully blank expression, to be presented with this proof that he did not return the sentiment… She'd expected it, of course. But somewhere, in her heart of hearts, she had hoped.

She'd meant to acknowledge her feelings, to tell him she understood they didn't change anything. That for both their sakes, she would ignore her attraction to him, clamp down on it, wish it away.

She needed him too much to like him.

But, looking at him, at the person who, depending on his mood, either built her up or tore her down… at the boy who knew all her greatest failings but cared for her anyway…

She knew she didn't just need him—she wanted him, too, wanted him badly. And even more than that, she wanted him to want _her_. The yearning coursed through her veins, pulsed in time to her heartbeat, a rhythm that was strong and fast with desire and treacherous, treacherous hope.

_Want me. Want me. Want me._

He didn't. That much, she knew, and she drew closer to him as if drawn by magnetism. But… she could _make _him want her, or try to. He already thought her pathetic, already knew of her crush, and still he cared about her.

What did she have to lose?

She approached until she was less than a foot away. He stood very still. "Your collar is messed up," she murmured, and stepped even closer to fix it. She took her time, smoothing and straightening, allowing her fingertips to brush his throat. Then she stepped back, and looked up at him through her eyelashes, smiling slightly. "There."

And then—and then he just looked at her, really _looked _at her, and all of a sudden she wished she was wearing a sweatshirt over her dress. It wasn't that he looked anywhere but her face, and it wasn't that it was… _that _sort of look.

It was just—intense. Incredibly, incredibly intense, and she found herself stammering, "But uh, yeah. I mean, I fixed it, but—you could go all hipster and pop your collar. That would be tight. Just, um, thinking out loud."

He smirked, and leaned in closecloseclose, his lips a scant centimeter from her earlobe as he murmured, "Thinking is an individual pursuit. Like stamp-collecting. Now, chess, on the other hand… that's for two."

At his proximity, she blushed furiously, and looked down, aware of the point he was making. He would let her try to manipulate his affections, but would manipulate hers right back. She heard his amused exhalation of breath, heard him turn to walk away.

She even heard his unspoken words: _Two can play at this game._

But only one would win.

~x~

A few days later, An was on her way to practice when she noticed Hashimoto in the hallway. Feeling an irrational urge to prove she liked the other girl, she smiled at her. "Hey, Hashimoto-san."

The other girl's eyes lit up. "Tachibana-san, I've been meaning to talk to you. Got a minute?"

"Um, sure. What's up?"

There weren't many other people in the hall, and Hashimoto did not lower her voice when she asked, "Do you like Akaya-kun?"

An stared at her as her heart gave a funny jolt. "Um," she said. "Um. I… wow, that was—abrupt. But um, no. No, I don't. He's just a friend."

The other girl's gaze was not hostile, just curious and intent. "Are you sure?"

"Why? Do you want to get back together with him?"

Hashimoto smiled a little, tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "I don't know," she admitted. "I mean, he's cute and fun and athletic, obviously. But—it's always just tennis tennis tennis with him, you know? So… I'm still trying to decide. You liking him would have made up my mind for me. I wouldn't like, fight you for him," she laughed.

"Oh," said An numbly. "Oh."

The other girl kept smiling. "Well, thanks for being honest. I'll see you around, okay?" She wandered off as if without a care in the world, and the girl with the blue-gray eyes just stood there, staring.

Staring, and numb.

* * *

Dedicated to **bloocheeze **for asdfagjksdfl leaving the greatest review _ever_. Seriously. I owe you the sun the moon and the stars, girl, or at least a gift!fic. XD

10/10/11 Edit: This story, as far as I know, won't be updated again until November. I need to take care of some college crap.

Disclaimer: I do not own _Prince of Tennis_, or The Fray's "All At Once" (lyrics at the top).


	22. Don't Look Back, You Can Never Look Back

**250 Dark Stars**

_(Drink up, baby doll_

_Are you in_

_Or are you out?)_

…

"So what's been bothering you?" Sayoko asked without looking up from what she was typing. They were in the library during lunch period, as the blue-eyed girl was working on student council stuff. The culture festival was that coming Saturday.

An bit the inside of her cheek, and used her chopsticks to chase a stray grain of rice around her _bento _box. Sometimes she wished Sayoko didn't occasionally break out of her self-absorbed haze. But maybe trying to explain her feelings would help her understand them herself.

"Hashimoto-san is thinking about dating Kirihara again."

There was a momentary pause in the _click-clack-tap _of the other girl's typing, before she started right back up again. "All right," she said. "Well… I'm gonna go all therapist-y on you and ask how you feel about that."

The chestnut-haired girl spun her computer-chair to the left, then the right, then to the left again. "I don't know. I mean. I know it doesn't involve me, but—he's my friend, you know? And… Hashimoto-san is his ex-girlfriend. They must have broken up for a reason. What if he gets hurt again?"

"How do you know he got hurt in the first place?" was Sayoko's counterpoint. "He might have broken up with _her_. We don't know. I'm sure we could find out, but really, I don't think it matters. Kirihara can handle himself—even I have to give him that.

"And I don't think that's what you're actually worried about, anyway," she murmured, sounding somewhat amused.

An shot her a sullen look, but shrugged stiffly. "Fine. So I'm afraid if he gets a girlfriend, he won't have time for me. Is that so wrong?"

"Issues of probity are not my strong suit," the mahogany-haired girl admitted frankly. Her fingers moved swiftly and surely over the keyboard. "If that's how you feel, that's how you feel, rightly or wrongly." Her tone conveyed that this was something she had come to accept.

"I guess," replied An, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, only to take a few locks and begin braiding them together. The motions were jerky, jittery. "We all have so little time already, between school and homework and extracurriculars. There are only so many things—so many people—he can divide his attention between."

Her friend did not disagree, so she went on, "And I know how girls get. Boys, too, I guess, but still. Not many girls are okay with their boyfriends being close friends with other girls. And even if she doesn't mind me hanging out with Kirihara, she might want to hang out _with _us, and that would just be—weird.

"And… and…" _I need to be able to hang out with him. To be with him. To have him make me happy. I need his friendship. _

When it seemed An wouldn't finish her thought, Sayoko began carefully, "I don't think this is a big deal. Hashimoto-san said she _might _try to get back together with Kirihara. She might, she might not. That's how she is. But even if she does, do you really think Kirihara would want to be with her again? Because I don't."

The chestnut-haired girl didn't respond, just undid the braid she'd made. A moment later, though, she started braiding the same section of hair, and her friend sighed. "I'm not making you feel any better, am I."

Turning her computer-chair around to look at her, Sayoko asked, "What do you want me to do?" It wasn't a rhetorical question, and she wasn't being sarcastic. Instead, her expression was earnest and serious, her eyes unwavering and absolutely blue.

She looked very much like her brother.

An bit her lip, had to look away. That time in the hallway, Hashimoto had seemed somewhat intimidated by Sayoko. The mahogany-haired girl might be able to make her back off. It wasn't unlikely—with the force of will the other girl was displaying at that moment, An would have believed she could do anything she set her mind to.

But… "It's all right," she said eventually. "Thanks, Sayoko, but you don't have to do anything. I won't have you fight my battles for me, and… and you're right, probably. I'm worrying about nothing, or overreacting, or—or something. So… so yeah." She shrugged for what seemed the umpteenth time.

Sayoko swiveled around to face the computer again, and for a few moments, the only sounds were those of pages turning and chairs scraping and keyboards clacking, before: "Can I ask you something?"

"The answer is yes, I would still be friends with you even if you got your hair cut like Justin Bieber," the chestnut-haired girl replied immediately. "But not publicly. We would have to hang out in deserted alleys."

Sayoko smiled a little. "Well, thanks for that, I guess. It's just… and you don't have to answer this if you don't want to… Do you like Kirihara?"

An stared at her. To have Hashimoto ask her that was one thing, but to have to face Sayoko's measured, expectant look…

She was struck silent for a long enough time that when she could finally speak, she didn't hedge, didn't stammer, didn't um-uh-I-mean herself to death. All she said was, "No. No, I… I don't like him."

The blue-eyed girl blinked once, slowly, and it all but made An squirm in her seat, she felt so exposed. Still, her friend inclined her head slightly, a lock of long brown hair spilling over her shoulder like a bird's wing being unfurled. "All right," she said, almost appeasingly. "All right."

~x~

An's discomfort did not abate, however; instead it worsened over the course of the next few days, until she could hardly sit still, she was so antsy, pulling at her hair and tapping her feet and crossing and uncrossing her arms.

"What's up with _you_?" Marui asked her during a break. They'd developed something of a friendship—he was interesting and intelligent, if a bit patronizing towards her. Still, that came with being a senpai, and a cocky one at that.

"Nothing," she shrugged, and kicked at the pavement. They were in one of the courtyards, enjoying the warm weather. Soon the students would switch to their spring-and-summer uniforms.

"Oh really," the redhead replied dubiously. Up to that point, they'd been talking about a TV show they both watched. "Because you're acting like you're trying to figure out how to tell me that you ran over my dog."

"Well, you really should keep him on a leash," she murmured distantly, her attention arrested by the pair that had just walked into the courtyard. Hashimoto was with Kirihara, talking warmly while he nodded along. Immediately, An started shifting her weight from foot to foot.

Marui followed her line of sight, eyebrows raised. "Ah," he said, something canny and knowing in his voice. "Isn't that Akaya's ex-girlfriend?" He didn't wait for the response he didn't need. "Well, that's interesting, don't you think?"

"Super interesting." Her tone was flat, her eyes on her friend and the girl he'd used to date.

The older boy ruffled her hair, and gave her a light shove forward. "I'm just going to sit down on this bench here—my old bones can't handle standing for long. Don't let me cramp your style, though. Go on and play with your friends."

She made a face at him as he took a seat. "Senpai is not a very nice person," she observed sulkily, aware that he was hoping for some entertainment. His only reply was a cheery smile, and so she steeled herself and walked over to Kirihara and Hashimoto, trying to appear as if she hadn't a care in the world.

_Daisies, _she tried to convince herself. _I'm skipping through a goddamned field of daisies._

"Hi," she said to them, too brightly, the enthusiasm ringing false in her own ears, and in Kirihara's, as well; the black-haired boy shot her an inquiring look. Whether Hashimoto picked up on it, An couldn't tell. Nothing about the other girl's happy-go-lucky demeanor changed, but An was beginning to suspect that she was more shrewd than she let on.

"Hi, Tachibana-san," she smiled, her hands clasped behind her back. Her tie was crooked and loose, carelessly tied. "It's really nice out today, huh? I love warm weather."

Kirihara did not verbally greet An, instead only dipped his chin in acknowledgment, and though he'd grinned when she'd approached, she couldn't help but feel—cheated. Had Hashimoto not been there, he would have made a playful remark, or touched her in some way, bumped her hip or poked her face or pulled on her hair.

What did he have to hide? Why had he held back, been cautious and reserved in front of his ex-girlfriend? She shot the girl in question a suspicious glance. Was Hashimoto being jealous and possessive, nagging and pressuring him into ignoring An?

While she was considering all of this, her mind racing and her temper rising, an awkward silence fell, and the brown-eyed girl tried to alleviate it. "Well," she began, drawing the word out uncertainly. "Well, I guess—"

"Sorry, we have to go," An broke in shortly, taking Kirihara's hand in hers and towing him after her, into the building, without looking back to gauge Hashimoto's reaction. Only when they'd made it inside did Kirihara retract his hand, run it through his hair while regarding her skeptically.

"For real?" His tone had a mocking edge and an amused overcoat, but mostly it was just incredulous. "What's gotten into _you_? Get chased by a bear this morning, or what?"

She crossed her arms over her chest, chin lifted obdurately, but for some reason, her heart wasn't in it. "You said you would teach me during lunch—how to do that chemistry thing. But you didn't."

"Because you were more interested in talking about tennis balls forming a labor union," he retorted, brows furrowed.

"Yeah, well," she muttered. "Just—I just—" She looked at him plaintively. The eyes were the window to the soul, right? She searched his, trying to figure out whether he really did know what was bothering her, trying to determine how he felt about Hashimoto.

But his eyes revealed nothing. Instead they remained audaciously green, holding hers, waiting for an answer, an explanation.

All she could offer him was an excuse. "Kirihara," she said, a note of petulance creeping into her voice. "Can you just help me with it? Please? I just—I need a good grade on the next test."

He stared at her for a moment longer, head cocked as if he was trying to study the inner workings of her mind, trying to dissect her, break her down. Like he was searching for something.

She didn't want to think about what.

Finally: "Fine," he shrugged, his hair getting in his eyes as he turned, started towards their classroom. "Since you can't live without my academic brilliance… let's go."

And even as An sighed in relief, trying to exhale the tension she felt, the apprehension, still it lingered in her, continued its tumor-like growth, a cancer that would not remain dormant for much longer.

~x~

"This is humiliating," Sayoko grumbled.

"I think it's fun," An grinned, though the words and expression lacked their usual enthusiasm. It was the day of the culture festival, and they were at the school gates, greeting the people that streamed in. She wore a gorgeous silk kimono, pale pink with a pattern of small white flowers blooming on green vines.

In response, the blue-eyed girl mumbled either "That's because _you _don't look like a poodle" or "That's because _you _don't cook good strudel." It was probably the former, for Sayoko was outfitted as a Victorian lady, with her long hair curled and pinned up. Her dress was a soft blue thing with lacey sleeves, a comparatively full skirt, and a close-fitting bodice.

A _very _close-fitting bodice. When girls from the theatre department had helped her put it on, Sayoko's face had gone pinched and pale. Though she'd said she was fine and had, in her own words, "walked it off," An still worried, and was keeping her friend away from high cliffs in the hopes of avoiding an Elizabeth Swan-type situation.

Presently, the mahogany-haired girl walked over to greet a family that had just arrived, beaming a brilliant, welcoming smile at them. To An's knowing eyes, the smile was clearly fake, as bright and pretty and false as a rhinestone. And yet there was still a force to it, something that drew you in. She almost wondered whether—

"Putting on a good show, is she."

The voice, low and careless, came from her left, and she whirled. There, seemingly having appeared from nowhere, stood Niou, his eyes on the girl in the blue dress. An tilted her head. With the festival behind him, all colors and noise and movement, Niou seemed almost a ghost, pale and still and detached, just somehow _other_.

It kind of made her want to shoot him with a squirt-gun.

She made a face. "Senpai, you really shouldn't sneak up on people like that." When he didn't respond in any way, she sighed. "Sayoko's doing fine. No thanks to you—she told me you're the one that had Yagyuu-senpai suggest in front of the whole student council that she be one of the people in costume."

At that, a corner of his mouth quirked up, though he still wasn't looking at her. His gaze lingered on Sayoko, and she wondered what he saw. At length he said quietly, "She'd be a very different person, you know. If she weren't Yukimura's little sister."

Her eyebrows drew together; her lips parted to ask what he meant. But she knew. Had she not spent her whole life trying to match her brother's success, Sayoko would have, perversely, been much more like him: confident and charismatic and independent. Those qualities were in her, buried beneath self-doubt and self-disgust.

Yet for sixteen years, the blue-eyed girl had found herself, time and again, having to measure up to Yukimura Seiichi—the gorgeous, compelling, multitalented Child of God. And each time she had failed to meet his sky-high standards, each time she had been found wanting, she had lost a part of herself, a part of the girl she would have been.

An had gathered as much that day at the clinic, when Sayoko's sobs had come as if each one was ripped right out of her heart.

When she found her voice, it came out sharper than she'd intended. "Are you trying to blame Yukimura-senpai?"

"Of course not." He sounded bored, faintly derisive. Still, he did not spare her so much as a glance. "Yukimura can't help being who he is." Or, rather, _what _he was: a tree, strong and tall, whose far-reaching limbs blocked any sunlight or rain from reaching the thin, sickly sapling in his shadow.

Before she could ask why he'd brought it up—for if there was one thing she'd learned about Niou, it was that everything he said and did, every careless gesture and offhand comment, was deliberate—the girl herself walked over, her expression wary and uncertain. "What's going on?"

"Um," said An, and then again: "Um." She had a feeling she would do poorly if she joined the debate team, and/or got elected prime minister of Japan… because both scenarios were equally likely. Really, they were. Prime Minister Tachibana An… it had a nice ring to it.

Her first act would be to establish National Dolphin Appreciation Day. Actually, her first act would probably be to eat a celebratory muffin. But the dolphin thing, that would be a close second.

"… and I hope you're pretty damn pleased with yourself," Sayoko was saying. She held her lace fan as if considering jabbing at Niou with it. "You have, once again, made me look like an idiot." She gestured to her attire. "_Well_ done. Well done indeed, sir."

"I don't know what you mean," said the pale-haired boy, his narrow mouth quirked in the suggestion of a smirk. He looked her over slowly. "You look quite the proper Victorian lady. Your manners, of course, could use some work, but the 'sir' thing, that was a nice touch. It suits me."

The blue-eyed girl began fanning her face, though An suspected it was more to conceal her rising blush than because she was too warm. "Many things suit you, senpai," she said tartly, her tone at odds with the smile she was plainly trying to suppress. "Rotting vegetables, for one."

He drawled, "Yeah, I get that a lot," and moved toward her, in the manner of a cat advancing on a mouse. Like the cornered prey that she was, Sayoko froze. "And do you know what I think suits you?"

"… What?"

"Wearing your hair down," he said simply, his slim quick hand plucking the clip from her hair. As her curls tumbled down around her face, Sayoko stared at the older boy, her eyes wide and bright and shining with something like wonder.

In an entirely too self-satisfied fashion, Niou pressed the clip into her hand, before turning and melting into the festival crowds. Moments later, the only indication that he'd been there at all was the crimson staining Sayoko's cheeks.

An, feeling like she'd witnessed something intensely private, kicked at the ground. For Niou to flirt with Sayoko so openly… what did that mean? What did he want? She'd been sure that he valued the mahogany-haired girl too much to toy with her emotions…

Said girl hugged her arms tightly to her chest. "Damn," she mumbled. "Damn. I wasn't ready. The stupid jerk _cheated_."

"What are you talking about? Cheated at what?"

"Nothing." She began fanning herself again. "Those theatre girls spent like an hour on my hair… damn it. Damn it."

Lips pressed together, An considered her friend. Something had changed in Sayoko's relationship with Niou, and she was not at all sure it was for the better. The two made a striking pair, she would admit that much—it was hard not to, with his sharp good looks and her tremendous beauty.

But that did not mean they would actually make a good couple. Niou was too sly, too insouciant, and all too willing to pick at the blue-eyed girl's many insecurities. That he returned her adoration with his own type of peculiar affection did not matter. He would hurt her.

Sayoko was playing with fire.

"Have you seen my brother at all?" Her blush had died down, and now her expression held a curious mixture of fretfulness and hope.

"No, I haven't," An murmured, trying to clear all the conflicting thoughts from her mind. "Why?"

"Oh… no reason. It's just that I—" She fumbled, looked down. After a moment, she admitted quietly, "I'm just kind of wondering… I don't know. What he thinks of—" She gestured vaguely to the culture festival at large. "Whether he thinks that I…"

Had done a good job helping to arrange all of it. Whether he was proud of her.

"I'm sure he's super impressed," said An immediately. "I mean, you did great with all of this. Really. You should be a professional festival-arranger. A festivalist, if you will."

"Thanks." The other girl's smile was soft, almost shy. "Well… I guess I'll go look for him." She tilted her head slightly. "And you? Kirihara must be around here somewhere… just listen for people screaming."

An laughed uncomfortably. "Yeah… yeah, I'll find him." On that note, the two girls went their separate ways. As she looked for the green-eyed boy, she grew more and more ill at ease, and her anger increased in correlation.

She and Kirihara had really—they'd really been working toward something, been growing closer. He'd made her feel happy. He'd let her have fun.

Why did goddamned Hashimoto have to come and screw everything up?

It was a mean, small-minded thought, but there it was, and it had been plaguing her for a good while. She approached the track, where the students were competing in relay races. There were plenty of guys at their school. Why did Hashimoto have to decide to take away the one An cared most about?

_Oh, you have _got_ to be fucking kidding me._

For there, watching the races, stood the boy she'd been searching for, and with him was the girl she was coming to resent deeply. Kirihara faced the track, while Hashimoto was turned toward him. She was smiling.

An was not.

"Kirihara," she called, making her way to him. Moving in her kimono took care, but when he turned to look at her, she was instantly glad she was wearing it. The pink looked well against her skin, and the obi emphasized her waist in a way she quite liked.

His eyes had lit up at her voice, and they widened upon taking in her elegant attire. Hashimoto, too, was staring, but not with appreciation. In fact, she seemed rather miffed at the appearance of the pretty girl her ex-boyfriend was always hanging out with.

It was the first real break in the other girl's carefree mien, and An was viciously pleased by it.

"Yo," said Kirihara when she reached them. His hair, as ever, was falling in his eyes. "Dressed up just for me, huh? And you _still _don't look half as good as I do…"

She smiled up at him, and said lightly, "I think I look pretty good." She rounded on Hashimoto. "What do you think?"

The brown-haired girl looked at her hard for a moment, before: "You look very pretty, Tachibana-san."

"Thanks," An replied sweetly. "So do you."

Hashimoto wore only a simple skirt, a blouse, and a tight smile. She did look nice, but was clearly aware of being mocked. "You're too kind." Her gaze went to Kirihara, who had watched the exchange with an unreadable expression. If he'd caught on to the power-play, he was not showing it.

Then the brown-haired girl turned to lock eyes with An. The latter would have liked to treat her to one of Sayoko's coolly imperious looks, but knew she couldn't pull it off. Instead she gave her a look she would have shown a girl across a tennis net: fierce, hard, and decidedly unfriendly.

Hashimoto bit her lip, and An decided to drive the point home. She did something she'd wanted to do for a long time: she reached up and brushed the curls out of Kirihara's eyes, letting her fingertips linger a moment longer than necessary. Both his skin and his hair were surprisingly soft.

His breathing hitched.

Hashimoto looked like she'd been punched. "Well," she said grimly. "I—I have to go." Her head down, she hurried away.

An hoped she would cry.

Just as suddenly as the thought had come, she regretted it. What kind of person was she turning into? She'd just acted like a total _bitch_, the type of nasty, possessive girl she'd vowed never to become.

The thought of losing Kirihara brought out the worst in her.

She looked at him then, horrified of what he must have thought of her little display. He was considering her with narrowed eyes. "Hey," he said. "Hey. Are you…" He didn't seem to know exactly what to say. "Are you okay? You seem…" He frowned. "Freaked out."

"I," she said. "I'm…" _sorry_, but he wasn't the one she should be apologizing to. She'd treated Hashimoto like dirt.

And yet. If the other girl reappeared, if she looked at the black-haired boy with those warm brown eyes again… An would probably treat her just the same way. And it occurred to her:

_I can't lose him._

She and the boy beside her had been through hell and back together. They'd fought. They'd hurt each other. Despite herself, despite everything she'd ever believed, she'd found herself growing more and more fond of him. They had a connection. A bond. One she treasured. One she would protect.

_I _won't _lose him._

"Kirihara," she said then, desperate and impulsive and terribly, terribly earnest: "Kirihara, I think you should go out with me."

* * *

... Oh heyyyy.

Disclaimer: I do not own _Prince of Tennis_, or Frou Frou's "Let Go" (lyrics at the top).


	23. And it Feels Like We Could Last Forever

**250 Dark Stars**

_(Feel this_

_Can you feel this?_

_My heart beating out of my chest)_

…

Kirihara stared at her. "What?"

"I think you should go out with me."

He shook his head disbelievingly. "You're joking. You've got to be joking." But when she didn't break into a grin and tease him for having taken her seriously, he raked a hand through his hair. "You're serious," he said, almost to himself. "You're serious about this."

An kept looking up at him, her large blue-gray eyes sincere. "Yes."

His own eyes narrowed. She had never seen him so incredulous, so at a loss. "But why? I mean, seriously. What the hell, Tachibana. Why should I date you?" He didn't ask it meanly, only frankly. Still, it was far from an encouraging response.

But with each passing moment, she grew more and more sure of her spontaneous proposal. It was the only way. "Well," she replied, slowly, and did not know what to say next. So she tilted her head, regarded him, this friend of hers with his wild dark curls and wild green eyes—manifestations of his personality, of the boy who was more alive than anyone she'd ever met. The boy who was just… more.

Just like that, she was overcome by tenderness, raw and warm, as well as a sudden breathless vulnerability. She took a step toward him, and asked, gently, "Don't you like me?"

He frowned.

An swallowed. She couldn't decide whether her heart was in her throat or on her sleeve, which fluttered in the springtime breeze as she reached out to him. He did not move a muscle. Cupping his face in both hands, she looked at him intently, seeking some sign of returned affection, of granted permission for what she was about to do.

He showed nothing. She would have to take a risk.

She closed her eyes and touched her lips to his, softly, softly, a butterfly's breath of a kiss. Kirihara did nothing—did not push her away, did not pull her closer. Crushed (he didn't like her he didn't want her oh God oh God she'd humiliated herself), she began to draw back. Only at the last moment did he return her kiss, his arms wrapping around her waist securely.

A smile spread across her face like the horizon stretching out across the ocean, but he would have none of it. He deepened the kiss, his mouth slanting across hers and filling her with heat. Her heartbeat quickened exponentially, a hard fast thrumming that was both painful and sweet.

When they finally broke apart, she found herself unable to look at him. Instead she pressed her face into his throat, his skin hot and smooth against her cheek, and placed her hands on his shoulders. He continued to hold her as they listened to each other breathe, soft sounds that were heavy with the weight of what had passed between them.

_Mine, _she thought, her relief even more deeply felt than her fierce joy. _He's mine._

~x~

"You _what_?" Sayoko goggled.

"I kissed Kirihara," repeated An, plainly trying to act casual about it. The culture festival had ended, and they'd gone to Sayoko's house. The chestnut-haired girl would be spending the night, and they would all go to the tennis tournament together the next day.

"But… _why_?"

"Why not?" shrugged the girl with the blue-gray eyes, her face turning pink. "I mean, it's not _that _big of a deal…"

Yet Sayoko couldn't get over it. They were sitting on her bed, with the door closed—the other girl had made sure of that. "I guess not, but it's just… you said you didn't even like him." Suddenly feeling fidgety, she began gathering her hair into a messy bun.

"Well, now I do." An's tone was firm, her jaw set.

The mahogany-haired girl blinked. "Um, all right… so are you two like, together now?"

An bit her lip, before: "I think so. I mean, we didn't really _talk _about it, but he kissed me back, so… either he's a total man-ho, or we're dating."

Sayoko's eyebrows drew together. "All right, well, that's… um, solid. That's solid. I'm sorry, it's just—I can't help feeling like this is completely out of nowhere. I mean… what about Hashimoto?"

The other girl flinched almost imperceptibly, before asking, in a dead-even voice, "What _about _Hashimoto?"

The blue-eyed girl all but drew back. _That _was clearly not a subject open for discussion. Mouth set in a thin line, she studied the chestnut-haired girl. That Kirihara and An would eventually become more than friends… she had seen that coming. Who hadn't?

But she'd expected it to take a great deal more time. They were both stubborn, both proud… and they had a lot of history between them, bad blood. It wasn't an easy thing to overcome, and that An had made that leap so impulsively, so heedlessly…

Of course, she didn't have any room to talk. Lord only knew what she'd gotten herself into with Niou. Yet still she worried for her friend, who, it seemed, had only gotten together with Kirihara so suddenly because she couldn't stand the thought of losing him to Hashimoto.

Though Sayoko disliked the green-eyed boy, she knew he made An happy, and so would support their relationship. But for such an important decision to have been made so impetuously…

She couldn't help but have a bad feeling about it.

"So anyway," said An too brightly, in what was doubtless an attempt to change the subject, "your birthday's coming up. I have one question for you: giant party, or gianter party?"

"Sure," Sayoko scoffed, leaning back against her pillows, "it'll be me and a hundred of my closest friends. Let's see, there's you, andddd…"

An waved this away. "You know like a million people would come if you asked them to."

Of course—they would come for her brother. "I don't need people," said the mahogany-haired girl, her fingertips grazing her lower lip. "No man may be an island, but this girl has got it down pat. I am a party of one. It makes going to restaurants much simpler, I'll tell you that."

"Oh, shut up," said An warmly, and when the two girls went downstairs to raid the fridge, she broached the subject with Sayoko's brother, who sat at the kitchen table drinking tea and translating passages of _Candide _from French into Japanese. "Yukimura-senpai, you're going to throw Sayoko a party, aren't you?"

Over the brim of his cup, his eyes were bright. "She's never exactly been a party person, not even when parties entailed balloons and trips to the zoo." He glanced at his little sister askance. "She made the zebras stampede."

Sayoko smiled a small, self-satisfied smile. "It's amazing what a disgruntled toddler can achieve, given a moment alone and an entire bag of party-poppers."

"We haven't been back since," he mused. "Honestly, they probably still have you on some deny-access list, with that picture—do you remember? The one where you're wearing a party-hat, and scowling like you're about to kick someone in the shin."

For a moment, An seemed somewhat sad and very much wistful, and Sayoko wondered whether she was missing her own older brother, someone with whom she could recall a shared childhood, could reminisce with about warm, hazy days long past.

She looked at her brother—at his hands that had held hers, his arms that had carried her… and for some reason, she wanted to cry.

The following day dawned cool and cloudy. Sayoko wore slim black jeans and a blue jacket with gold buttons, her hair drawn back from her face in a half-ponytail. An and her brother talked as they walked to the train station, but she remained quiet—thoughtfully so, if a little bitterly. Looking at them in their yellow uniforms, and then at herself, she mused,

_Which one of these is not like the others… _

To say that she was not bothered by her brother's unmistakable affection for the other girl would be a lie. An was the sister Sayoko should have been, and the mahogany-haired girl was helpless but to resent her for it, deep down in her ugly little heart.

Yet their closeness appeared to make both of them happy, and for Sayoko, that settled the matter.

Upon arriving at the grounds, An went to meet with her teammates, and Sayoko followed her brother to where he had instructed his team to gather. Now that they were further along in the tournament, he'd had them begin arriving earlier. It allowed for scouting, and guaranteed that they would register on time.

If ever Rikkai got disqualified for registering late, Sayoko would board the soonest flight out of Japan. No way would she stick around for the nuclear meltdown that would be her brother. No _way_.

Sanada and Yanagi were already there when the siblings arrived, and Marui, Jackal, and Yagyuu showed up shortly after. Kirihara appeared next, and she regarded him with raised eyebrows, seeking some change in his demeanor. He noticed her attention, and sneered at her.

She shot him a cold, nasty look, and they could both turn away having met their obligations.

Sitting on a bench, she swung her feet, and reflected, _I really should make more friends, or at least acquaintances that don't hate my guts._ Watching the passersby, she considered how best to go about approaching them.

_Hi, my name is Yukimura Sayoko. My hobbies are moping and chewing my nails. It's hard to make time for them—my schedule is booked full of emotional breakdowns—but I manage. My greatest skill is undoubtedly how well my body retains liquid. I have the reserves to cry for _hours_—I store water like a frickin' camel, man. Wanna be besties?_

Once the entire team had assembled, they registered, and then dispersed—the Three Demons to scout, Marui to find food, and the rest to wherever they pleased. Kirihara, she noticed, headed toward where the girls' team was playing. Normally she would have gone to watch An as well, or else tagged along after her brother.

Yet Niou, who had arrived last, and barely spoken a word to anyone, left immediately upon being dismissed. And Sayoko, who was reasonably concerned and equally curious and not just a little lovesick, followed.

It was rare for her to be unescorted by some member of the team at the tournaments, and the difference it made struck her. When in the company of a boy wearing a yellow regular jersey, she, by proxy, was on the receiving end of many a long look, apprehensive or awed or anywhere in between.

Alone, she merited no more consideration than she should; whatever attention she attracted, it had nothing to do with anyone but herself. At this revelation, she actually had to concentrate on maintaining her cool, holier-than-thou demeanor, and not break into a small smile.

By walking in the general direction that Niou had taken, she found him, of all places, in the bleachers that faced the practice courts. He sat with his legs out in front of him, crossed loosely. She felt as if she should have made noise when she approached, the way one does to keep from startling a wild animal. "Niou-senpai."

He did not turn, but a corner of his mouth quirked up. "I figured you'd follow me." He sounded neither pleased nor displeased to be proven correct, but still she bristled. His comment had made her seem like just one of the many girls that flocked to her brother's team, showering them with unwanted attention.

Really, though, what was the difference? As the captain's sister, she just had an advantage over the rest of the fawning admirers. The regulars could hardly tell her to shove off.

She frowned, chewing on her nails. If she were to consider it from an evolutionary standpoint, she would probably be the fangirl that would survive through natural selection. Then she would pass on her beneficial trait, and in time all fangirls would be related to the captains of tennis teams.

Or something.

"You haven't heard a word I said, have you?" Niou was looking at her now, with hooded eyes and a smirk that had no real unkindness in it.

The mahogany-haired girl blinked. "I'm sorry, what?" And then, after his words had registered: "Oh. I… guess not." She recalled the point at which she had stopped listening, and shifted her weight from foot to foot, shoulders hunching. "I could leave, if you want…"

_Please say no. Tell me you want me to stay. If you would only just tell me you want me to stay…_

"Sweetie," he said simply, scooting over, and Sayoko couldn't help it—she beamed, bright and brilliant, feeling as if fireworks were going off inside her chest. But when the older boy's eyes widened, the smirk wiping clean off his face, she blushed, and ducked her head.

_Goddamn goddamn goddamn damn damn. Way to play it cool, Sayoko. _

She'd woken up that morning determined to get revenge for the other day, to dazzle him with her feminine wiles. To be charming, alluring. But just like that, she'd destroyed the facade. And anyway… she felt as if this wasn't the time. Niou seemed—not troubled, exactly.

Maybe… sad.

She went and sat beside him, making sure her hair veiled her still-flushed face. "Senpai," she said quietly, and left it at that. She could have asked him what was bothering him, could have told him that no matter what, she would do her best—whatever _that _was worth—to help him.

Instead, she waited.

The pale-haired boy didn't reply. He leaned back on his elbows, and tilted his head toward the gray sky. Through her hair, she watched him, her lips parted slightly. At length he began, "If your brother…" He frowned, turned so that he faced her.

"Would you ever not forgive your brother for something?"

"No." What an odd question.

His eyebrows drew together. "No matter what, you would forgive him?"

Because she could not bite her nails while talking, she settled for twisting a piece of hair around her finger. "No matter what," she said, surprised by the certainty of her own answer. "Because…" Her eyelids lowered. "He's everything. Everything, and only."

The set of his mouth softened. "All right. But…" He ran a hand through his hair in a way that was very much unlike him—agitated and unthinking. "What if he wasn't everything to you?"

She stared at him, at a loss, and he exhaled through his mouth. "Nevermind. You're the wrong person to ask."

"I'm sorry…" And she was, she was, she really _was_. So badly, she wanted to comfort him, to make him feel better. But the one time he even hinted at seeking solace in her, she was useless to him.

Wasn't that just damned predictable.

"Don't be." He said it gently, looking at her with eyes that gleamed like water under moonlight, and she thought, _Why are you so afraid to show this boy to the world, this boy who is vulnerable? I like this boy._

Niou gave no indication of hearing her thoughts, seeming wrapped up in his own. Almost unconsciously, she reached out, wanting very much to stroke his hair, as he had done to her so often in the past. He noticed the motion, eyebrows lifting. She winced, and let her hand drop. Though he invaded her personal space whenever he wished, he got incredibly touchy when others tried to do the same to him.

But he did not reprimand her. Instead he tilted his head, the heat and weight of his measured gaze settling over her skin. And then… she couldn't even believe it… but his eyes began to close, his breathing began to slow as he leaned down to rest his head on her shoulder, his forehead at the crook of her neck.

Sayoko did not think she'd ever gone so still in her life.

Hardly daring to blink, she looked down at the top of his head, her heart breaking and healing on a beat-by-beat basis. She could feel his eyelashes on her throat, his breath on her collarbones. He was so close. He was _so close_, right there, he was right there, and—

And he wasn't hers. She ached and ached and _ached _for him, but he was not hers. He might as well have been miles away.

She closed her eyes, and she pretended.

~x~

An ran down a shot to the right-hand corner of the court. Reaching it with time to spare, she planted her feet and drew her racquet back, swinging in an arc that rocketed the ball over the high end of the net, blazing straight down the line. A screaming winner.

It was one of many she'd already hit, even only thirty minutes into the match, and still she couldn't keep the grin off her face. She felt _good_, fast and strong, like she would never get tired, like she could never lose. She owned the court, decided the pace. They were playing _her _game.

"One-love," the referee called out. "Rikkai's Tachibana to serve." An had already ended the first set with a 6 – 2 victory. While bouncing the ball, she glanced around, appreciating the audience, the attention, the eyes on her, but one pair of eyes—green, green—in particular.

Kirihara was watching. Hands in his pockets, he stood some distance from the chain-link fence. None of his teammates were with him. She couldn't see his expression, but could almost _feel _his gaze, like a physical thing. Her boyfriend's gaze…

The idea was strange, off-putting, and she missed her first serve. Damn, damn, damn. She had to focus. She couldn't put thoughts of him out of her mind, but could at least push them to the back. So push them back she did, and twenty minutes later, she walked up to shake hands at the net. "Good game."

"Yeah, you too," the other girl muttered. With this win in Singles 3, Rikkai would advance to the next round. By falling short, her opponent had sentenced her team to the loser's bracket. An felt sympathetic for her, she really did, but—her pride and pleasure were much stronger, and she all but skipped off the court.

_He saw that. He saw me play great, saw me win. And he came just for me._

She frowned. Or the girl she'd just beaten was some long-lost childhood crush that he'd finally tracked down, and after seeing her today he would approach her, and they'd begin a passionate relationship, despite attending different schools. But that seemed less likely.

"Yeah, yeah, well done," Shimizu rolled her eyes. "Cool it, hotshot. You beat an average player, at best. It's not like you took Serena Williams down in a Wimbledon final."

"I bet I could, though," was An's flip response, and she accepted the light smack on the back of the head that she deserved. After she'd packed up her stuff, she gathered with the rest of the team, awaiting the captain's dismissal. Serena Williams actually intimidated her a lot. It was probably the way she grunted when she played.

An tried out her own grunt—it sounded like there was a hedgehog lodged in her throat. Worse, she'd done this just as the team had gone silent so Fuyumi could speak, and every head swiveled in her direction.

That figured. "Uh… sorry. Continue." _Good cover, good cover._

The tall brown-haired girl looked as if she wanted to smile. "Right. Good job today, everyone. This was a convincing win. But our opponent in the next round is nothing to sneer at, so we'll work hard this week to improve."

"And _then_ once we crush them, we'll sneer at them," added Shimizu gleefully. She seemed on the verge of maniacal laughter. "We shall sneer like we have never sneered before."

"But respectfully," Fuyumi stipulated, straight-faced. "Respectfully, and with good sportsmanship. That's it for today, everyone. You can leave."

An needed no further prompting. She trotted over to where Kirihara still stood, only realizing halfway there that everything had changed between them. She'd been about to make a playful remark, to grin at him, maybe even hug him… But now? How was she supposed to treat him?

She'd had a few boyfriends before, but never… never one like Kirihara. Never one that was so willful, and never one that had meant so much to her. She couldn't screw this up. She absolutely could not screw this up.

It really hit her then, fully and completely for the first time: _Kirihara Akaya is my boyfriend. _Kirihara Akaya _is my boyfriend. Kirihara Akaya is my _boyfriend_._

_Holy shit._

"Um," she said once she reached him. "Um. Hi."

"Um, um, hi," he mimicked, smirking playfully. She'd kissed those lips, An thought, swallowing. Just yesterday. It seemed like so long ago… but it had happened. It had happened, and she couldn't take it back, and she didn't really want to, but—but—

"Hey," he said, and stepped toward her. "Hey. Whatever you're freaking out about, calm down. It's just me." Moving closer, he said again, more softly, "It's just me."

And it _was_ him. It was him, and he was hers.

_Everything's all right, _she told herself. _It's all good. This way, I won't lose him. Everything will be great from here on out._

So she smiled at him. "It is just you," she agreed. "I was hoping for Johnny Depp, but I'll make do. If I got everything I wanted, I would be cocky and obnoxious—kind of like you."

"Can't have that, can we," he nodded. "The world can only handle so many people like me. If there were too many, it might explode from sheer awesomeness overload. Or from overpopulation. It's an either-or sort of thing."

She hugged him then, pressing up against his chest. This way, she felt him sigh. "I told you, this is terrible for my reputation. If you don't let go right now, I'm gonna have to deck you, and I hate picking on people that aren't my own size. It's no fun at all, except for when it is."

Her refusal to budge prompted him to sigh again. When she looked up at him, he used the tip of his index finger to trace the shape of her face, from her temple to her chin. His eyes were bright but glassy, and he seemed almost surprised by his own gesture.

To conceal the heat that flooded her cheeks, she buried her face in his chest again, and still she found herself smiling.

_It's all good. It's all good._

* * *

Super fast update whattttt.

Disclaimer: I do not own _Prince of Tennis_, or Bethany Joy Galeotti's "Feel This" (lyrics at the top).


	24. There's a Fire Starting in My Heart

Author's Note: Read the note at the bottom. Read it read it read it!

* * *

**250 Dark Stars**

_(There's a fire starting in my heart_

_Reaching a fever-pitch_

_And it's bringing me out the dark)_

…

Hashimoto Yuuka stared out the window of her homeroom class. Try as she might not to notice the looks thrown at her, she could not. Rumor had it that Kirihara Akaya and Tachibana An, the two second-year aces of their respective tennis teams, were going out.

"… got together at the culture festival," one girl was saying knowingly. "Like, he just walked up and kissed her in front of everyone."

"She's so lucky," another sighed.

Yuuka bit down hard on her lower lip. _That's not how it happened,_ she thought, and then: _It should have been me. _

Tachibana An had everything. Good grades, a starting position on the tennis team, friends in high places. Why did she have to take the one boy Yuuka had ever felt strongly about?

Speaking of girls that were too good to be true, Yukimura Sayoko chose that moment to enter. With a toss of her hair, she strode across the room—as if she _owned _the place—until she stood right in front of Yuuka's desk. "Good morning, Hashimoto-san."

"… Good morning." Yuuka made sure her expression was pleasant, but knew her eyes would betray her wariness. "Is there something you need, Yukimura-san?" When the lovely girl just raised her eyebrows, she found herself saying, "If Tachibana-san asked you to talk to me…"

"She didn't." The mahogany-haired girl managed to make her voice at once sweet and icy. "You're angry at her, aren't you? An, that is. I would be, if I were you."

Anger was something Yuuka rarely felt, but damn if Tachibana's behavior hadn't brought it out in her. Not that she would ever admit that to Yukimura Sayoko, of all people. "I don't know what you mean."

"That's a pity. Maybe you'll understand me when I say this." She leaned in closer, her eyes a quiet cold blaze that caused almost physical pain. "Resent An all you want. Like I said, I would. But if you even entertain the notion of actually getting revenge…"

She smiled then, beautiful and heartless. "I will ruin your life.

"At any rate." She drew back. "Just thought I would nip that in the bud. Have a good day, Hashimoto-san." And then she walked out of the room, people stepping out of her way like a tide receding from the coastline.

Yuuka put her head down on her desk.

~x~

"I raise you a bottle of Gatorade and a leaky pen," said Akaya to Rui, just as Sayoko said, "Everyone, if I could have your attention." Rolling his eyes, the black-haired boy cleared the poker game off his desk, and the other guys returned to their seats.

The mahogany-haired girl standing at the front of the room launched into an update about student council activities. Akaya didn't even pretend to listen. When looking out the window grew dull, he glanced over at An. She was doodling, but raised her head when she must have felt his eyes on her.

She smiled at him, and held up her notebook to show him what she'd been working on: a picture of Pikachu on a tennis court, playing a figure that was either Santa Claus or Legolas from _The Lord of the Rings_.

"… and so does anyone have any suggestions?" Sayoko's expression, while smooth, could not have conveyed less interest in the thoughts of her classmates. As far as he could tell, there were only three people in the world whose opinions she cared about: her brother's, An's, and Niou's.

No wonder she never heeded him when he told her to get over herself. He'd made much cruder suggestions to her, of course, but only in his head, for fear that she would go crying to Yukimura. How could two such dissimilar people be related?

Then again, maybe it made sense—their parents had used up all their awesome genes on their firstborn, and there had been none but the whiny, irritating ones left for the second. Of course, when it came to Akaya and his own sister, it was the other way around. _His _parents had saved the best for last.

"We should have a school dance," enthused one girl, only to cringe when he laughed scornfully.

"Kirihara-kun," reprimanded their homeroom teacher, frowning in a way that, interestingly enough, made him look like a dinosaur. "Mind your manners."

"Sorry, sensei," he drawled, ignoring the disapproving look An shot him—she could be such a _prick_ sometimes. "I was actually laughing with delight. I, for one, think it's a great idea. In fact, I would go so far as to say it sounds stupendous."

Yamato-sensei narrowed his eyes at his sarcasm, and seemed about to take him to task, but Sayoko spoke first, her eyebrows drawn together. "A dance isn't exactly in the budget."

"We could have a fundraiser, couldn't we?"

Akaya blinked, turning to look at the girl he supposed he was dating. Her face was glowing the way it did when she was excited, the way he would admit was _kind_ of cute, maybe not really but kind of. _An _wanted to have a dance? What the hell.

"I suppose so," said Sayoko reluctantly. It was apparent she was against the idea, and that annoyed him, as it meant they had something else in common. She wrote it down on her clipboard. "I'll bring it up at the next meeting."

Tsujiai muttered something that only the people nearest to him could hear, and those of them that were his friends laughed. The blue-eyed girl shot him a freezing look, and Akaya sent a vicious glare his way. Yukimura's little sister was off-limits when it came to mockery from people outside the team.

The two boys locked eyes, and silently Akaya dared him to say something further, to start a fight in earnest. What he wouldn't give to wipe that stupid smirk off the other boy's face… but like the coward he was, Tsujiai looked away first, toward the wall.

Maybe Akaya would punch him anyway, in some quiet back-alley. Or maybe even in front of Tokyo Tower. The next day's newspaper headline would read "Super Cool Green-Eyed Boy Beats the Shit out of Lame-Ass Punk." He would be praised as a hero—but more importantly, as a badass.

Practice that day was brutal. Yukimura had decided that they'd played sloppily the day before—despite never dropping two points in a row, never mind a single game—and had Yanagi add a pound to each boy's power-weights. It didn't sound like much, but _damn _did it wear on you.

Especially in light of the extra suicides he made them run. Akaya hated many things—snakes, English, Seigaku—but probably suicides most of all. "This," he panted, "fucking," pant, "_sucks_."

"You think," wheezed Marui, "I don't," wheeze, "fucking _know _that?"

"_Fuck_," was all Niou said. The three of them were collapsed on the grass, having just finished their last suicide. Akaya lay on his back, staring up at the blue sky. Blue like Yukimura's eyes, prompting him to try harder, run faster, be _better_, better better better, always play better (which meant never never never, he would never be good enough).

It was also blue like Sayoko's eyes. The girl sat some distance away, sorting through the racquets that belonged to the club as a whole. She was arranging them in rainbow order.

"Sweetie," Niou called indolently, not lifting his head off the ground, "you're wasting your time."

"I am not. This is important."

"She's so stupid," Akaya mumbled, though he knew it was not true. Sayoko was terribly smart, just silly. What he found endearing about An absolutely grated on his nerves where his captain's baby sister was concerned.

Niou cut him a look that warned against further insult to the mahogany-haired girl, and stood, going over to talk to her. Once he was gone, Akaya rolled his eyes. The older boy was so weird and hypocritical when it came to Sayoko.

"So," said Marui, having apparently drawn sufficient oxygen into his lungs, "you and cute little Tachibana An, huh?"

The green-eyed boy ripped out a handful of grass. "Shut up, senpai."

"Hey, no need to get all defensive. I think it's adorable, and expect to be named godfather." The redhead smirked. "But damn if you aren't going to have some explaining to do when that Tachibana Kippei comes back to Japan."

Akaya frowned, and considered rubbing the grass into Marui's hair. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Think about it," insisted the volley-specialist. He seemed quite entertained. "Imagine Sayoko-chan telling Yukimura that she's dating a guy from a rival team. Now imagine if it was a guy that had _hurt _Yukimura in a tennis match."

Akaya snorted. "As if anyone could." It was hard to hurt someone when you didn't have enough control of your senses to even hold a racquet.

"Pre_tend_. That's the reaction you're gonna get, bucko. And if I remember correctly, that Tachibana dude looked pretty hardcore."

With a smirk, Akaya closed his eyes to block out the sun. His hands were behind his head. "I'm not afraid of him."

"That's because you're a thickheaded idiot." The older boy's tone was fond. "But exchanging blows with your girlfriend's big brother is a one-way ticket to bachelorhood, my friend. Speaking of which, the girl of the hour appears. Tachibana-kun," he called in an irritating sing-song. "He's over here."

"Hi, Marui-senpai." Akaya could hear the smile in her voice, and felt her nudge his arm with her foot. "Hey, you."

He opened his eyes to see An standing above him, the sunlight picking out the streaks of gold and honey in her hair. He didn't understand why Niou and so many others were taken in by Sayoko's looks—her beauty was too symmetrical, too perfect. It made her seem untouchable.

But An's warm prettiness made him very much want to touch her—to run his hands over her arms, her hips. To kiss the insides of her wrists, the hollows under her collarbones… He swallowed. "Hey."

She sneered at him, her nose crinkling up. The effect was less menacing than adorable. "Looks like _you're_ working hard. Perfecting your possum-technique? If you lie down on the court and play dead, you can lull your opponent into a false sense of security. _That's _when you strike."

"Damn straight. Possums are mean little beasts. My grandmother died by possum attack, I'll have you know." He sat up, stretching his arms. "And anyway, at least I'm _at _my practice. Did you just run out on yours? Gonna join the stamp-collecting club instead?"

"Nope." She seemed exceptionally amused, for some reason. "I came with—"

"Kirihara Akaya!" shouted a voice he didn't immediately recognize. He turned to find the curvy, blond vice-captain of the girls' tennis team striding toward him. She came to a stop, put her hands on her hips, and crowed, "All right, punk. This shit's about to get real."

He lifted his chin. "I have no idea what you're talking about, which makes me think it'd be perfectly fine if this shit were to remain imaginary." When An frowned at him, he added flatly, "That is, with all due respect, senpai."

Dryly, the girl asked, "And exactly how much respect do you believe I'm due?" She held up a hand. "Don't answer that. Just get your ass on the court, boy, and prepare to be schooled."

_Fat chance, _he thought with a curled upper lip, but stood anyway. Yukimura, in his eternal quest to make Akaya play a wider range of people, had probably requested that she come over. The year before, he'd had him play that tall brown-haired girl—Fuyumi, he thought her name was.

Marui got to his feet as well. "Go easy on him, Tsubame-chan." Those odd violet eyes were bright with mirth. "He'd a delicate flower, this one is." Yet when Akaya shoved him, he snapped, "Hey! Watch it. I bruise easily."

"Senpai," An broke in, with a sweet smile that undoubtedly got her out of a lot of trouble, "I'm supposed to play you, if you don't mind."

"I don't mind at all," he declared, and shot a narrow look at Akaya. "Unlike _some _people, you know how to treat an upperclassman—and a genius, at that."

"I could not have any more respect for your genius than I already do," she assured him solemnly. When Akaya made a face at her, she stuck her tongue out at him. Which beat which? There really needed to be rock-paper-scissors-type rules—scowl beats cross-eyed look, perhaps.

The blond chick's name was Shimizu, he found out, and god_damn _was she good. She hit as hard as he did, and did not seem to tire. To top it off, she had a tricky serve, skidding and sliding, difficult to read. When another of his returns went into the net, he almost threw his racquet.

Luckily, An was not watching him struggle against her vice-captain. She had her hands full with Marui, who was being obnoxious as usual, in that he took every opportunity hit one of those damned volleys of his. The chestnut-haired girl looked as aggravated as Akaya felt.

When finally he beat her with a score of 7 – 5, Shimizu didn't seem at all dismayed, indicating she hadn't nearly gone all-out. Neither had he, but—still. _Still. _An finished shortly afterwards, and threw herself down on the grass beside him.

"Okay," she said. "Serve-and-volley? Worst. Style. _Ever. _Just saying."

"Nah." He chugged some water, and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. "Data tennis is. You ever played a data specialist? Most annoying thing in the world. I wanna punch Yanagi-senpai every time he starts going on about the likelihood of me taking a backhand down the line."

"You should. Punch him, I mean." She stretched her arms over her head, the hem of her tank top riding up. Akaya watched with interest. "It'd give him a new scenario to calculate—what will make Kirihara Akaya jump over the net and start beating the shit out of his opponent."

He smirked. "The answer to that has already been found. Last year, actually. Don't ask."

"Someone insulted your mom, didn't they? Or made fun of your girly eyelashes…"

The black-haired boy kicked her lightly, but she only giggled. "So what was up with you today in class, anyway? You can't actually _want _to have a school dance."

"Oh yeah? And why is that?"

The way her voice sharpened slightly made him want to sneer. She got offended by the dumbest things. "Because it's so stupid. I have to be around these people too much already—the last thing I want is to spend a night with a bunch of losers pretending they know how to dance."

"Then don't go." The words were said with a _snap _of finality, like the sound made by the elastic band she pulled free from her hair. "It's good that you're sitting down, because I have some shocking news. The world _does _actually go on without you."

"I'm gonna need to see some research backing that up," he deadpanned. "You can't just go around denying what everyone knows is true—look what happened to Galileo."

An smiled, seemingly despite herself, and Akaya felt remarkably self-satisfied. "Somehow I don't think the Spanish Inquisition will come after me just because I don't think the world revolves around you."

"What you may or may not think is all well and good, but I _know _something." He propped himself up on his arms, regarded her smugly. "You would miss me, if I weren't there. Admit it."

After a moment's pause, she reached over and brushed his hair out of his eyes—a gesture he was still getting used to, though it wasn't unpleasant. "Sure I would miss you," she said with a closemouthed smile. "But I'd also be really annoyed if you came and spent the whole time complaining and making fun of people."

With a noisy sigh, he flopped back onto the grass. "Those are part of my top five favorite activities, though. If you take them away, all I have left is tennis, video games, and eating." She just laughed, and he laid his head on his arm, considering what Marui had said.

Most of the time he forgot that she'd ever gone to a school different than Rikkai, that she'd ever rooted for a rival team. To him, she was not that Tachibana's little sister at all; she was only the girl with the blue-gray eyes.

The girl he very much wanted to kiss again.

Unfortunately, he'd lost her attention in the brief span of time he'd been silent. Her face was turned away. Akaya sat up to see. Sayoko sat on the steps leading down to the courts, and Niou was right beside her, leaning against the wall. "He shouldn't do that," An said quietly. "Lead her on."

Niou was plainly flirting with the blue-eyed girl, in his own languid way, but— "She's flirting right back," Akaya pointed out, his eyes half-lidded. Sayoko's legs were stretched out before her, which explained why many of the guys on the courts were missing shots. "When she gets hurt, it'll be her own fault."

The chestnut-haired girl's voice was bleak. "You say 'when,' not 'if.' Is it really that certain? I know Niou-senpai is kind of… loose, when it comes to girls, but—if he'd break his no-girlfriend rule for anyone, it'd be for Sayoko. Don't you think?"

"_Hell _no," Akaya laughed. She turned on him, glaring, and he held up his hands. How could he make her understand someone like Niou? "Listen, I've known the guy a lot longer than you have, okay? And I've known Yukimura's little sister longer than you, too." His expression made his feelings on _that _matter clear.

"He cares about her, sure. God only knows why, but he does. He's probably even attracted to her. But when it all comes down to it, Niou-senpai is strong, and Yukimura's little sister is weak. If she keeps hanging around him…" Akaya shrugged.

"He'll break her heart."

An pulled her legs up to her chest, wrapped her arms around them. With her chin on her knees, she said grimly, "You shouldn't call her that. 'Yukimura's little sister.' It's—demeaning. She's her own person."

He just shrugged again, but when her mouth tightened, he realized he'd struck a nerve. She must have been thinking about all the times she herself had been treated as only an extension of her brother.

_You've never been 'Tachibana's little sister' to me, _he wanted to tell her. _You've always been special.  
_

But that would have sounded stupid. So, looking nowhere but at her, he said simply, "An."

Her eyes grew large and round, which made him think he'd expressed everything he felt. Her lips had parted in surprise, but now curved up in a shy smile. "Hi," she said softly, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.

He pulled her to him then, burying his face in her hair. It was warm from the held her, and waited.

Finally, she came through. "Akaya…" He drew back, unsure of whether he was smiling or smirking. It was a strange blend of happiness and smugness that he felt at the sound of those three syllables, _A-ka-ya_, coming from her lips.

Then, he frowned. "Make me a promise."

"I'm not going to buy you a falcon. If ever I get one, believe me, it's gonna be mine."

"We'll see," he smirked, before sobering. "Seriously, though. Promise that whatever weird little game Niou-senpai is playing with Yuki—with _her_, you won't interfere." He felt her stiffen, and went on, "Niou-senpai can get pretty mean, sometimes. Especially when people mess with what he wants. So just—promise."

She didn't respond in any way, until, just when he was about to repeat himself, she nodded once, against his chest. The words went unsaid.

~x~

An drew a deep breath. _Just get it over with. Just make everything right._ "Hey," she called, relieved to hear that it came out steady. "Hey, Hashimoto-san…"

The addressed girl turned, a smile slipping from her face like snow falling off a roof. "Tachibana-san," she said, and crossed her arms. "Is there _more _that you want from me?" Her gaze flickered once to Sayoko, who stood on An's left, and then a second time, like a stutter.

The chestnut-haired girl frowned. "Listen," she said. "I'm… sorry about how things—turned out. No hard feelings?" She got more of a reaction from the people passing by than she did from Hashimoto, so she tried again, her voice somewhat fainter. "I was thinking, I don't know. We could be friends, maybe." To tie up loose ends, to assuage her guilt.

The resulting laugh had a low roughness to it, and a high sharpness. "I thought we could have been friends, too. But you went and shot that all to hell, didn't you?" Yet when Sayoko sent her a hard, challenging look—one An couldn't determine the authenticity of—she pressed her lips together, and said, "Look.

"What's done is done. I'm not happy about it, but whatever. I hope _you're _happy with yourself." She smiled thinly. "But if you think for a minute that after what happened, you can come up with this let's-be-besties crap…" She shook her head. "If you _really _like Akaya-kun that much, fine. Have him.

"This isn't worth fighting over…" Again, she eyed Sayoko warily, before looking back at An, her expression smooth like a stone. Yet the way water runs over stone, wearing it down, so too did her strong emotions seem to be eating away at her mask of composure. "But it still isn't something you can fix with a smile and an 'I'm… sorry,' either. Because right now?

"You're just adding insult to injury."

She walked away then, her arms now not so much crossed over her chest as hugged to her sides. For a moment, An stood frozen, before turning to Sayoko. "Can you _believe _her?" she demanded, an angry flush rising in her cheeks. "I mean—_God_. I was just trying to be nice."

"I understand that," said the other girl carefully, bringing one hand up to hover by her lips. "But it did come off as a little…" She frowned. "Patronizing isn't exactly the right word, but it's the best I can come up with." At An's look of indignation, she sighed. "I'm not taking her side. I'm just saying. You have this tendency to—to try to _fix _everything. But…

"Some things, you just can't fix."

An's eyes narrowed. "I'm not like you, Sayoko," she snapped, her heart racing in a tight, unpleasant sort of way. "I don't just give up on everything."

The mahogany-haired girl, with a look of concealed hurt and quiet warning, was silent just long enough for An to deeply, _dearly _regret what she'd said, why had she said that, damn it damn it _damn _it, why did everything keep falling apart? At length she said slowly, softly, "It's not me you're angry at, An."

"I know," she muttered, head down and hands clenched. "I'm sorry." And she was. So she really had to wonder…

_Why am I so mad?_

* * *

I need more music - can't write without it. Does anyone have any song suggestions for this story? In other news, someone once asked whether there could be a dance in this story, so... IT SHALL BE DINOSAUR-THEMED. Maybe.

Disclaimer: I do not own _Prince of Tennis_, or Adele's "Rolling in the Deep" (lyrics at the top).


	25. Let's Shake and Burn, Like an Addict

Author's Note: Read the note at the bottom! -pause- Again.

* * *

**250 Dark Stars**

_(Listen, listen_

_I would take a whisper_

_If that's all you had to give)_

…

An sighed. "It's not that hard. It's just math."

Sayoko scowled at her, gripping a mechanical pencil so tightly it seemed likely to shatter. "_Just _math? Two plus two is _just _math. This," she gestured to her notes on indefinite integrals, "this is—this is—_witchcraft_."

"Well, even first-years at Hogwarts can do this," snapped the chestnut-haired girl, only to hold up her hands. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I just—I don't know what's wrong with me."

But she did. _"If you _really _like Akaya-kun that much…"  
_

Hashimoto's words still rang in her head. They made her ask herself whether she really _did _like him that much, that she would do anything to make him hers. And the night before, she'd lain awake, and realized…

_Liking _him had not been a factor, not in her impromptu decision to ask him out. She'd been resentful of sharing him, terrified of losing him… determined to keep him. Never had her train of thought been along hey-I-really-like-this-guy-and-it-would-be-super-cool-if-he-were-my-boyfriend lines.

So _did _she like him? She was attracted to him, yes, and thought he was smart and funny, that he could be caring and almost-sweet… and she certainly liked kissing him. So—so yeah. Yeah, she liked him. Which was good, seeing as she was _dating _the kid.

Sayoko was looking at her strangely. "Does it have anything to do with whatever you were talking to my brother about this morning?"

An bit her lip, turning away. It was hard to meet those blue eyes, after she'd—whatever. It was for the best. It would all turn out fine. "No," she said, her voice coming out less evenly than she would have liked. "No, that was nothing."

~x~

That afternoon, Sayoko sat on the bleachers with a notebook on her lap. It was open to a page that read, in sparkly orange ink:

Ideas for School Dance Fundraisers:  
A List

By Yukimura Sayoko

Idea One: Deploy most gifted math students to casinos to count cards and win large amounts of money.

Idea Two: Sell a portion of the student body into slavery.

Idea Three: Bake-sale.

"All right," she muttered to herself, ignoring the taste of blood in her mouth—she'd been chewing her stubs of nails again. "All right. Good start, good start." And then: "_Hey!_"

Leaving her notebook on the bleachers, she strode over to where a couple of non-regulars had begun rifling through the club's collections of racquets. "You're messing them up. Green comes after yellow. Everyone _knows _that."

"Uh," said one of guys, pulling at the collar of his jersey. He exchanged a glance with his friends. "I, uh—sorry?"

"Yeah." She crossed her arms. "Yeah, you should be sorry. Do _I _wish they could just be sorted any which way? That purple could come after yellow? Sure. Sure I do. But you know what stops me? _Discipline_."

"I… we…"

"Now take twenty laps around the courts, and think about what you've done," she finished, gaze even and head held high in a spot-on imitation of her brother.

Speaking of whom. "Don't listen to her." He'd come up to lay a hand on her shoulder, and continued, "Go do volley drills with Marui on court four."

Once they'd scurried away, she began giggling, despite her best attempt to maintain a straight face. "They take me so seriously… Not that this isn't a serious matter."

He seemed to waver between amusement and exasperation. "Did it ever occur to you that it would make more sense to organize them by size and string-tension, instead of by color?"

"I don't make the rainbow. I just follow it."

Her brother rubbed his face, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes the way he did when he had a headache. "If it makes you happy," he sighed, and his voice acquired the most delicate of edges as he went on, "Though I do wish you would stop distracting my team. They need to focus."

Shoulders hunched, she mumbled to the ground, "Sorry, Oniisan." _Sorry for causing you more trouble._

"It's all right." He opened his eyes, and began adjusting the jacket draped across his shoulders. "Sayoko," he said, in a very deliberate, measured tone of voice, equal parts captain and big-brother. "This morning—"

"Niou-sen_pai_!" He stood by the bleachers, reading her notebook. "Sorry, Oniisan," she said quickly, and darted over to pluck it from the silver-haired boy's grasp. Unfortunately, the bastard held it up, out of her reach.

"Idea number two," he drawled, gently deflecting her attempts to grab the notebook, "that one's a keeper."

She lifted her chin haughtily. "It's wrong to read other people's stuff." _And to make them jump up and down like idiots, trying to get it back._

He flicked her forehead with his thumb and index finger. "Sorry if I don't take advice on moral issues from people who want to sell others into slavery."

"For a _good cause_." She frowned. "Well. Actually. For a school dance."

He only smirked, and began flipping through the other pages. She thought about protesting, or about reading over his shoulder, letting her cheek touch his, but instead just… watched him. The way his eyelids lowered, the way the corners of his mouth quirked up. With his attention occupied by something else, he seemed more approachable.

Not vulnerable—but if she tilted her head… yes, she could see him. She was getting better at peeling back the layers of ice and insouciance, at detecting the boy Niou so rarely showed glimpses of. The boy who actually had _feelings_.

_I can see you, _she thought, smiling to herself. _I see you._

He glanced up then, and noticed her small, special smile. His eyes widened slightly, before narrowing. Flatly, he said, "Don't look at me like that. It's annoying."

Her reply was soft. "You mean it makes you uncomfortable."

For just a moment, they were plainly writ on his face—his surprise and unease. Then he went expressionless, and shoved the notebook at her, stalking away without another word. She sighed, and cradled it to her chest.

Niou Masaharu did not like when the tables turned, and other people read _his _emotions. That much, he had made clear.

She was torn between anxiety (she'd made him angry he hardly ever got angry what if he stayed angry at her?) and self-satisfaction (for once, for once for once for _once_, she'd had the upper hand in one of their encounters). The latter won out.

Sayoko went to her brother then. He stood on a court by himself, serving again and again and again, all fast and hard and just—just _flawless_, really. Why did he even need to use the yips, when he could play like this? Once he'd emptied the basket, he signaled for a few first-years to refill it, and turned to her. "Sayoko."

"Hi," she mumbled. "Sorry for—for um, running away. You were going to say something, weren't you?"

"Yes." His face was still, set. "I was going to say something about Niou."

She froze.

Her brother ran a hand through his hair. "Sayoko," he said, looking at her but not meeting her eyes, "this morning Tachibana-kun mentioned how much time you've been spending with Niou, lately."

Sweat broke out on her palms, but she knew he'd notice if she wiped her hands on her skirt. "So?" Her throat was dry. It hurt to swallow. "He's your teammate."

"He is," agreed her brother, very evenly. Too evenly. "But that doesn't mean he's exactly the sort of person that…" He made a vague, halfhearted gesture, and Sayoko wished that the earth would swallow her up, that lightning would strike her, that a bear would fucking _maul_ her, just something, anything, to put her out of her misery.

This was mortifying. Oh, _God_, was this mortifying. "What?" Her voice was string-thin and needle-sharp. "You think he's a _bad influence_?" She crossed her arms, fought for control of herself.

"Don't make this into something it isn't," he said, in a way that came very close to snapping. Again, he pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, and Sayoko had to bite her lip, suddenly struck dumb by guilt.

"Sayoko," he said at length, letting his hands fall away from his face, "Sayoko, just listen to me." When she opened her mouth, he gave her a look that made her close it. "Don't start in on your stop-trying-to-control-me tirade. I'm not necessarily telling you to stay away from Niou…

"I just want you to know that I worry about you. All right?" His tone soft not so much with gentleness as with weariness, he went on, "I just want you to understand that."

_You want me to stop making your life more difficult. _She really was developing a skill for grasping what people actually meant.

They were roiling within her, those emotions, dark and ugly and sick sick sick, so sick—her brother had recovered from his illness, yet hers lived within her. It was _part _of her.

But… she did understand that he meant well. That he had a lot to deal with, and did not need to contend with her problems as well. And that if she ever wanted to be better than the Child of God's absolute train-wreck of a sister, she would have to act like it.

So she did not blow up at him.

"I understand," she said tightly. "Thank you for your concern."

But a blow-up was coming. She turned on her heel and left the boys' tennis complex.

~x~

An was by the clubhouse, chugging a Gatorade when Sayoko strode up, moving in like a thunderstorm. At the look on her face, she choked, dribbling blue all down the front of her shirt. "Sayoko," she managed. _Oh, no. _"I—"

"Could we talk somewhere else." Her voice and eyes were bright and hard like diamonds. The chestnut-haired girl could only nod numbly, following her past many a curious teammate. Shimizu raised her eyebrows, but did not interfere.

Once they'd rounded a corner, the mahogany-haired girl pivoted, one hand on her hip. "Who do you think you _are_?"

An blinked, swallowed. "I… what?"

"You had no right," the other girl seethed. "No right to talk to my brother about me and Niou-senpai."

"Sayoko, listen." She held up her hands the way one would to calm a wild animal. "I did it for your own good. Niou-senpai—I know you like him, and that he's nice to you sometimes, but—but he's bad news, he is, and I just—"

"You just _what_?" Sayoko's lips curled back. "You just thought, 'Oh, Sayoko's so dumb and useless, there's no point in even talking to her about her own business.'"

"I just didn't want to see you get _hurt_," An fired back, hands balled up into fists.

"Then why didn't you talk to _me _about it?"

"Because—…! Because I…" She grasped for words, for a _reason_, and came up short. "I just… that is…"

The blue-eyed girl smiled grimly. "That's right. Because you have no respect for me, or anyone else that isn't as _perfect _as you are. That's why you went straight to my brother." Her voice rose a few octaves. "Well, _sorry _to break up your perfect-party. I should probably just go ahead and let you _replace _me—"

"I'm not trying to _replace _you," An snapped, her temper rising, rising, rising— "I'm your _friend_."

"Yeah? You're not acting like it. You're acting like a nosy, controlling—"

"_Me? _Nosy and controlling?" She threw her hands in the air. "_You're _the one that went and talked to Hashimoto without telling me, didn't you? Didn't you?"

"Of course I did," Sayoko snarled, "so she wouldn't interfere in your relationship. But hey, no problem, you just went ahead and meddled in _mine_."

"What _relationship_?" An laughed harshly, the words coming like a flame following a line of gunpowder. "Get _over _yourself, Sayoko. You're just throwing yourself at Niou-senpai. You're not dating him. And you know what? You _never will_. He's going to use you and get rid of you, everybody knows it—"

"Everybody?" She made a noise of angry disbelief. "Who's _everybody_? Who _else _have you been talking about me behind my—"

"I know it, Kirihara knows it—"

"Oh, because _Kirihara _is an expert on relationships," Sayoko sneered. "The kid is at best a jerk, and at worst a fucking _psychopath_. But you're well aware of that, aren't you? And it's _killing _you. But _you _need to get over yourself. Because he won't change, not for you, and you need—"

"Shut up! Just _shut up!_" Tears of rage had formed in An's eyes. "Don't tell me what I need!" Venomously, she finished: "_You're _the screwup, not me."

The mahogany-haired girl's face drained of color. There was a pause, one where An could have should have would have said she was sorry she didn't mean it she took it back back back, but—

Some small, awful part of her _had _meant it.

And then the pause ended, and it was too late. Sayoko's voice was eerily calm, and her smile wasteland-cold when she said, "You're right. You know what? You're _right_. But you don't have to worry.

"I won't screw up your life any longer."

Without another word, she turned and walked away, and An just stood there, scrubbing at her eyes and regretting having ever transferred to Rikkai.

~x~

Sayoko sank to her knees in the dark soft soil of the garden. Arms wrapped tightly around herself, she tried her damnedest not to cry.

"You're _the screwup, not me…"_

"You're _the screwup…"_

_I am. I am, I am, I _am_, _she thought, squeezing herself hard around the middle—whether to hold herself together, or to force up the self-loathing masquerading as bile in her stomach, she didn't know. _Screwup, loser, failure, never ever good enough, never never never. Never, never, never. _

This mantra, while wretched in its message, was at least comforting in its familiarity, and she was able to keep from melting down completely. That was, until there came a certain voice, the last first last one she wanted to hear at that moment.

"Sayoko." Niou spoke, as per usual, lowly—so low, in fact, that she could not determine what tone he used. His face, when she looked up, offered no hint. He stood hipshot some distance away, hands in his pockets. She hadn't heard him approach.

"_He's going to use you and get rid of you…"_

She curled in on herself. "Niou-senpai." His name came out shaky. "Please leave." _I came here so no one would see me like this…_

He sighed. "What's upset you this time? You've been gone for over an hour."

Her hair tumbled forward as she ducked her head. "Senpai, I asked you to _leave_." The tears were coming—they burned behind her eyes, got caught in her throat. She choked them back. "Please. I mean it. I _mean _it." _If you have even a shred of respect for me…_

But he didn't. Instead he moved closer, crouched down in front of her. "Sa-yo-ko," he said, drawing her name out, breaking it down. "Just relax. All right? Stand up. You can do it. Just—"

"I _told _you to get _away _from me!"

The words were a raw hoarse scream, and just like that, the tears came spilling down her cheeks, and the sobs tore free of her chest. She clapped her hands over her mouth, tried to force them back, and ended up making strangled, animal-like sounds. _No, no, he can't see me like this, not again, no more, no, no, no—_

Niou bent down so they were face-to-face. "If you don't get up," he began, very softly, "I'll have to sit in the dirt with you. And I really don't want to do that. All right?" He held out a hand.

He said, "Sweetheart."

And… and even as her shoulders shook and her tears streamed and her heart seemed to fail—she could not look away. It might have been because she was weak. Because she was spineless. Or it might have been because he had lovely eyes, clear and shining.

She took his hand.

He pulled her to her feet, led her to a nearby bench. She cast an anxious look back—there had been something steadying about being on the ground—but allowed him to guide her. When he sat down, he rested one arm along the back of the bench. This was, she suspected, an invitation. But…

"_You're just throwing yourself at Niou-senpai…"_

She put more than a foot between them, and hunched inwards, trying to make herself as small as she felt. She'd stopped crying, but her face felt hot and tight. She kept her head turned in the other direction. _Why did he have to see me like this, just when I might have been proving I was halfway functional…?_

At least it seemed he was no longer angry. She snuck a glance at him, and was unsurprised to find him watching her. Unsurprised, but—unsettled. With Niou, she felt at once very safe (he would not let anyone hurt her) and entirely vulnerable (he could would did hurt her with a word, a look).

So… he would not let anyone hurt her, save for himself.

She ducked her head again. "You're skipping practice." She hated how thin her voice sounded.

"Well observed." Yet his sarcasm lacked unkindness. "My turn. You're upset. Why?"

She made an anemic show of bravado. "Y-You know. Figured I hadn't met my breakdown quota for this week…"

"Sayoko." He pushed her hair away from her face, even where it stuck to her tear-sticky cheeks. "I saw your brother talk to you. Is that what this is about?" Vehemently, she shook her head. No _way _would she get into what he'd said about "spending too much time" with the boy sitting beside her.

"You're making this difficult," he sighed. "I hate when you make things difficult."

Bitterly, she smiled. "Get in line." _You and An and my brother can sit down and talk about how much better off you'd all be without me…_

His eyebrows slanting together, he raked a hand through his hair, before muttering, "Come here." He tugged her toward him, bringing her within the circle of his arm. Even as he tucked her against his side, he warned, "Don't get used to this."

How _could _she? The feel of him against her was electric. She was hyperaware of every place they touched, of every moment his skin brushed hers. She knew his gesture was supposed to comfort her, but—if anything, it made her trembling worsen.

That did not mean, of course, that she wanted to pull away.

"Now," he said, with a tone of distinct self-satisfaction. "Tell me what's wrong. I won't sit here with you forever."

She pressed her face into his chest, as if there was any point hiding how swollen and blotchy it had become. "I'm a screwup." The words were muffled, miserable.

He did not disagree. Instead he asked flatly, "Did someone tell you that?" She nodded once. He began stroking her hair in a reflexive, methodical way that indicated he was thinking. But she didn't want him to think. Suddenly—suddenly she wanted him to _listen_.

She drew back to look at him. "I'm a screwup," she said again, with a mix of urgency and plaintiveness. "I—I can't do anything _right_." To her horror, she began crying again, her voice thickening as she went on, "I m-mess everything up. _E-Everything. _I j-just can't… I can't…

"Niou-senpai," she sobbed, "why am I s-so… why… do I r-ruin… _everything_?" _An, _she thought dismally. _I blew it. She hates me now._

For what seemed a long time, the only sound was that of her cries, before: "Oh, sweetie," he murmured. As he cradled the back of her head with one hand, his expression was—she didn't know what to call his expression.

And… she didn't care. For at that moment, Niou leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

His breath on her face was whisper-soft and whisper-secret.

~x~

An, walking with her head down and her shoulders hunched, didn't immediately notice when Niou approached her after practice. But as soon as she did, she was torn between fight-or-flight instincts. The dual urges canceled each other out, leaving her just standing there by the school gates.

He advanced on her, his gait smooth and rolling, and though she couldn't read any particular emotion on his face, he had a distinctly unfriendly look about him. Which made sense, given the matter he doubtlessly had on his mind.

She gripped the strap of her bag tightly. "Senpai, I really, _really _don't need this right now." _I can't handle this right now._

Niou shot her an _ask_-me-if-I-care look. "What the hell did you do to Sayoko?"

Her shoulders ached with tension. "I didn't do _anything_."

"Oh really," he deadpanned. "Because contrary to popular belief, she doesn't just break down for no reason." An glanced away guiltily, and he went on, "Not that it matters exactly what you did. Just don't do it again."

She kicked at the ground—it was a far easier opponent to face than the boy standing across from her. "This is unbelievable. You are such a _hypocrite_. Ever thought about how _you're _the one that upsets her, nine times out of ten?"

His eyes narrowed, and the temperature seemed to drop ten degrees. "This isn't about me."

"Then why are you involving yourself?" She steeled herself, stared him down. "You're not her boyfriend, and you're not her brother. You're just—_toying _with her. And then you have the nerve to be mad at _me _for treating her badly? _You're _the one she'd be better off without."

He showed his teeth in what she hesitated to call a smile. "Sayoko adores me." His voice was dead-certain, and more than a little smug. "Don't think for a second that you can turn her against me… or that you can get her brother to do it for you."

When she flinched in a way that should have been imperceptible, he smirked. "It seems I guessed correctly. Quite a controlling little thing, aren't you."

"Shut up," she snapped, her knuckles white and her heart hammering. How could Sayoko _like _this guy? She wanted to back up, to get away from him, to never again have those sharp eyes slice into her, cut right through the strength she'd always prided herself on.

As if drawn by her anxiety, Kirihara came into view, walking with a bunch of other guys. He appeared to be in the middle of a conversation, but the moment he spotted her and Niou, the grin wiped clean off his face, and he loped over without a backward look.

_Don't, _An meant to say. _I can handle it myself. _But when he stepped in front of her, her relief was so strong and deep-rooted that she felt disgusted with herself. Because while she was offended by his overbearing gesture… she couldn't help but want to press her face into his back and let him fight her battle for her.

"Hey," said Kirihara sharply. "Senpai. What the hell."

She couldn't see Niou's face, but his tone was derisive. "Your little girlfriend has been messing in matters that don't concern her."

An moved to stand in front of the black-haired boy. This put her closer to Niou than she'd been before, but having Kirihara there grounded her. She could sense him behind her, feel his breath stir her hair. "'His _little girlfriend_' happens to be Sayoko's _best _friend, and so the matter very much concerns her."

Niou's expression was contemptuous. "Doesn't look like you're her best friend any longer."

At that, An's cringe could have been detected by _anyone_, and Kirihara put a hand on her shoulder. Yet his grip was tight, too tight for comfort, and it almost seemed like the gesture was more to restrain himself than to reassure her. "Niou-senpai, seriously. Lay off." There was a dangerous undercurrent to him.

The silver-haired boy lifted a brow, though his eyes remained hooded. "Or what, Kirihara? What exactly will you do?"

The undercurrent strengthened, threatening to give way to white-water rapids of anger. Suddenly having him behind her was less steadying and more disconcerting. But before he could speak, Niou held up a hand. "It doesn't matter." He seemed to have grown bored with the conversation.

"Later, kid." This was directed to Kirihara, and to An he only shot a look, one that bid her remember what he'd said. Then he strolled off without another word, stepping through the gates and disappearing from sight.

Immediately, Kirihara used his grip on her shoulder to spin her around to face him. "What did I _tell _you about messing with Niou-senpai?"

"I _didn't_." She crossed her arms over her chest. "All I did was talk to Yukimura-senpai. I don't get why everyone's making such a big _deal _out of it. You people act like trying to help is a crime or something."

He gave off an electric, kinetic vibe, all energy and frustration and suppressed motion. He seemed on the verge of shaking her. "Then for the love of _God_, An, just _stop trying_."

She lifted her chin. "So, what? Just go ahead and let him break Sayoko's heart?"

His eyes blazed—not the cold-burn of the Yukimura siblings' eyes, but a wildfire-heat that she could practically _feel _radiating off his body. Almost meanly, he said, "Looks like that's your only option now."

Her mouth set in a thin line, she looked away. "Akaya," she said, because it was all she _could _say. She didn't know how to make him understand what drove her to help people. How to explain something so clearly alien to him. She _had _to, but she didn't know how. So she just leaned into him.

But even as he brushed his fingertips over the ends of her hair, the back of her neck, Sayoko's words rang in An's head.

_"He won't change, not for you__…"_

* * *

... Well now this is just awkward. But anyway, thank you very much to everyone who suggested songs/bands! And of course to everyone who reviewed period, especially those anonymous ones I can't reply to. All you lurkers out there should feel ashamed.

Now I have another question: Whose point-of-view do you most want to see?

Disclaimer: I do not own _Prince of Tennis_, or Jason Walker's "Echo" (lyrics at the top).


	26. And the Clock's About to Strike

**250 Dark Stars**

_(Show me where you run to_

_When no one's left_

_To take your side)_

…

The next day, An all but trudged through the hallways, having given everything she had and more at morning conditioning. She stopped outside homeroom, tried to muster some enthusiasm to get her through the rest of the day. _Rainbows, bunnies… dolphins… _

"Do you mind _moving_?" grumbled someone behind her. A classmate, Kurosaki.

She turned to reply, but Kirihara, having just walked up, beat her to it. "You can wait. A loser like you can't possibly have any exciting news you need to rush in and tell everyone."

An found herself unduly irritated. Stepping aside to let the red-faced Kurosaki past, she muttered, "You don't have to be so mean all the time."

Her boyfriend exhaled sharply, before slinging an arm around her shoulders, and saying in a high, bright voice, "'Gee, Akaya, thanks _ever_ so much for having my back. It was totally swell of you.'"

She shrugged him off, stepping into the room, and he made a sound that was part exasperation, part annoyance, and entirely fed-up. She just took her seat, fiddling with a lock of hair. _"He won't change, not for you…"_

When Sayoko entered, An rose partially. S_orry _was caught in her throat, but she wasn't sure whether it was part of _I'm sorry _or _Say you're sorry_. But it didn't matter—the mahogany-haired girl did not smile or cringe or even shoot her one of the mean, cold looks she had down so well.

Instead she wore a blank expression, but her mouth was thinned out, as if An were a stranger she'd accidentally made eye-contact with, and a distasteful one at that. Not a friend, and even worse than an enemy—someone she couldn't bear to be associated with in any way. Someone entirely beneath her.

An sat back down with a thump.

During the next break, she went over to Hiyono's desk. "People suck."

The other girl exchanged a glance with Kiko, who had also come over. "They do," she agreed slowly, her hands clasped in front of her. "So… did you need something?"

When An only blinked, Kiko broke in. Her voice was muted, and her posture agitated, but her words adamant. "What she means is, are we suddenly your friends again, now that you've fallen out of favor with her royal bitchiness?" Across the room, Sayoko talked and laughed with the group she'd hung out with originally, her dazzle-smile turned up high.

"I," she said. "I don't… guys, come on. I mean—I know I've been kind of—" Desperately, she looked to Hiyono, but the brown-haired girl said nothing. Her silence was a testament, and it hit with the full force of a condemnation.

An pressed her lips together. There was an ache in her chest, a tight thrumming ache that worsened with every breath, every realization that things were going wrong, wrong, wrong. That she'd been wrong.

She swallowed. Nodded. "I… yeah. Yeah." Her smile was small, bleak. "I guess—I guess I don't really have anything to say, then." Without checking for either girl's reaction, she went back to her seat, laying her head down on her folded arms. And she couldn't help but ask herself…

_Who's _really _the screwup?_

~x~

Much to Sayoko's horror, word had spread that she was the student council member charged with finding a way to fund a dance. In the hallways, people approached her with suggestions, and more than a few girls were already shopping for dresses.

So, she had a few options. She could change her name and flee the country—preferably to Azerbaijan, but Canada would be acceptable.

She could admit that she had no idea what she was doing, and chalk it up as another incidence in which she'd failed to meet expectations, proven herself incompetent, and overall sullied the once-respectable name of Yukimura.

Or she could hold a kick-ass dance.

The trick to that third option, of course, was finding a _way_. In her year spent in America, she'd learned that dances were part of the high school experience, that they were always planned for. This was not the case in Japan, and certainly not in a school as prestigious as Rikkai—almost every resource went toward studies and sports.

But somehow… she kind of had an idea.

She didn't want to share it, though, not after a day of smiling and nodding and feigning interest in people she didn't give a damn about. Of pretending that she wasn't lost without An's friendship, that she didn't hate herself for driving away the one person who wasn't in any way obligated to care about her, but did regardless.

And yet. _"_You're _the screwup, not me…"_

She couldn't forgive the other girl for that, not so soon, not so easily. Maybe if Sayoko were a bigger person, a better one… but she wasn't. She wasn't, and An had thrown that in her face.

Still, she lingered in her brother's presence that day, trailing him as he directed drills and assigned practice-matches and just basically did all of the things he somehow managed to do while still staying in top form himself. It surpassed impressive and bordered on suspicious.

Had his personality not been so big, she would have suspected him to be a robot.

"Sayoko." He turned to her then, raised his eyebrows. "If you have something to say, go ahead."

Perhaps he was a Coordinator… "Um," she said, and blinked, trying to organize her thoughts, to prepare what she was about to say. They both stood by the courts, and she wanted very badly to walk up the stairs, just so she could have _some _sort of advantage. Having the higher ground always helped in movies.

"Sayoko…" He was using his Sayoko-you're-wasting-precious-time-that-should-be-devoted-to-tennis tone. Though it had been in the works for quite a while, only recently had he added it to his official repertoire. He'd had many opportunities to perfect it, of late.

She made herself clasp her hands behind her back, and otherwise stand still. This was just a talk with her brother, not a Lightsaber duel. She could live without the higher ground. Worst case scenario, she presented herself poorly, he criticized her, and she burst into tears and fled the scene.

Wasn't like it hadn't happened before.

"Oniisan," she said, and studied his face, so like hers, and his bearing, so different. It was like looking in a mirror—the same image, just reversed. His light reflected, creating a copy.

"Oniisan, I think—do you know about how people want to have a dance? And we need funds?" When he nodded, she drew a breath. "I think… with your permission… thatmaybeifyouwantyoucould—" She cut herself off, swallowed. Tried again. "That you could hold an exhibition match with Hyotei."

He touched his chin with the fingertips of one hand, leaving his other arm folded across his chest. His expression was level, but she could almost feel it—the spark of his interest. "As a fundraiser?"

She nodded, watching him carefully. Behind her back, her fingers twisted together in a knot. "Yeah. It's just—I just thought, you know… tons of people would show up, would buy tickets. Our students, and Hyotei's—they have a giant tennis team, right? And tons of fans…"

He didn't say anything, just appraised her, and she found herself babbling on. "So yeah. Yeah. 'Cause like, scouts would come too, since both teams are so good, and spies as well, and you'd get a chance to like, measure Hyotei's ability or whatever, and we could sell stuff, like food and drinks and those little pinwheels that light up and spin around and—"

"All right," he laughed, and it was probably the best thing she'd heard in a long time. "All right."

She stared at him. "Are you serious?"

"Quite," he assured her. Sayoko had always imagined that long ago, someone had reached into a basket and taken handfuls of stars, tossing them like confetti into the night sky. Sudden beauty, sudden brightness. That was what she thought of when her brother smiled at her.

"As fundraisers go, it sounds like a good one," he went on, his tone thoughtful, pleased. "Though I do have one condition."

She almost swore out loud.

"You'll be the one who arranges this with Atobe."

"But _Oniisan_," she protested, before she could stop herself. "Why can't—I mean, I don't even know him, can't you just…?" She stared at him imploringly. _I will not whine, I will not whine, I will _not_ whine…_

Amusement gleamed in his eyes. "I'll give you his email address, of course, but as the student council member organizing this, it's only reasonable that you be the one to coordinate with Hyotei." His smile was maddeningly pleasant. "Don't you think so?"

She made herself count to three before replying. "That makes some amount of sense," she allowed stiffly, "but—but Yagyuu-senpai is a starter on the tennis team, _and _the student council president. It seems to me that he's more qualified by far." She matched his smile. "Wouldn't you say?"

"This isn't Yagyuu's idea. It's yours." The look he gave her was half steel, half sunshine. "And I'm sure he'd be more than happy to let you manage it. After all, next year you'll be handling things by yourself. Now is the time to learn how." His voice might have softened. "While there are still people to help you."

At that, she fell silent. In less than a year, her brother and his friends would be gone. The support-system he had created for her—that she'd relied on, time after time after time—would vanish.

What would she do?

"All right, Oniisan," she said quietly.

"Good." He went to step past her, but paused, laying a hand on her shoulder. "I really do think you've done well to come up with this, Sayoko."

She leaned into him, and for just a moment, he bore all her weight. Then she pulled back, and gave him a smile that was small and a little bit sad. She said, "Thanks."

~x~

The week went on. For An, it felt like running up a hill, like treading water. She never seemed to get anywhere, just to get by—and even then, barely. Tennis practice became a chore, and classes a punishment. Having alienated all of her friends, she spent most of her time either alone or with Kirihara.

There was something to be said for the latter. There really was. All of a sudden, he was the only one who could make her laugh, make her smile. He teased and joked and poked and prodded, clearing away her bad mood like he was wiping rain from a windshield.

Except for when he was the one to worsen it.

"Seriously, you need to just chill," he told her one day during lunch. He, An, and Rui sat on the roof—far away from the ledge—and the wind made his hair even wilder than usual. "I get that you're all upset about Yukimura-buchou's little sister, but for real? She's not even worth it."

Suddenly, the piece of tuna in her mouth tasted like ash. She had to make herself swallow it. "I _really _don't want to talk about it, Akaya." Beside her, Rui busied himself with arranging the grains of rice in his _bento _box.

"Well, yeah," said Kirihara, unperturbed by her sharp tone. He was lying on his back, tossing a tennis ball in the air. "You don't want to talk about _anything_, these days. And I'm just saying you need to get over it."

"And _I'm _just saying that you need to mind your own business."

"Look who's talking," he sneered, with a tone of voice that indicated he was losing patience, fast. "And anyway, you're _making _it my business by just sulking around everyday. It's getting really old."

Rui cut in before she could retort, chatting about homework and English and how did they think they'd done on the last test, so An just sat there, fuming. Kirihara didn't understand. He didn't under_stand_, and she was getting so tired of trying to get it through his thick head that some people actually cared about others.

_"The kid is at best a jerk, and at worst a fucking __psychopath__. But you're well aware of that, aren't you? And it's _killing _you…"_

It was. She'd always been bothered by his rudeness, his disrespect, his offhand cruelty—but had never felt _too _strongly about it, because… well, because he treated _her _pretty well, and that was what mattered, right? Wasn't it?

Maybe. Maybe, but—maybe not. Just because he was nice to her didn't mean he was a nice person. It didn't mean he showed his softer, kinder side to everyone. And while she liked that that made her special… she hated that her boyfriend could be so nasty.

She hated that she was dating someone who could be—and seemed to _enjoy _being—mean, and offensive, and hurtful. Someone who had fun making sure other people didn't. Because even if the person he abused and trash-talked wasn't in any way related to her… that person was still someone else's friend.

Someone else's brother.

So as the days passed, she snapped at him more and more, called him out every time he disparaged someone. Every time he threw an insult, she turned on him, and they fought. They fought, and he grew increasingly irate, taking it out on everyone else.

And the cycle would begin again.

The anger and the hurt didn't go away, not even when he kissed her. Not even when breath would hitch because he was looking at her so feverishly, when his hands were skating so lightly over her ribcage.

Because most of the time, they were fighting. They were fighting, and something was breaking.

~x~

Sayoko had never really noticed how, the majority of the time, Niou was the one to approach her, to appear by her side with a smirk and a drawled comment. To seek her out. Realizing it now, a warm, amber feeling bubbled up in her, fizzing like champagne.

But she was only realizing it because, ever since he'd held her while she cried in the garden, he had not come near her once. That counteracted the fizzing feeling, left her apprehensive and unhappy. Did he regret being that demonstrative? Did he wish he could take it back?

God, she hoped not.

By the time Saturday rolled around, she couldn't stand it anymore. Her brother had not explicitly told her to stay away from Niou, about which couldn't have been more relieved—she would have hated to go against him yet again.

She found the silver-haired boy on a bench by the far court. He and Yagyuu were talking lowly, but broke off when she approached. She made sure her expression masked the hurt. (Well, Niou could probably see it, but she could hide it from his doubles partner, at least.) "Sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt. I can lea—"

"Stay." Niou did not look at her when he said this; his chin was propped on his fist, and his gaze directed at the ground, but his voice was even. With a pleasant countenance that expressed nothing, Yagyuu rose, and gestured for her to take his seat. In response to her unsure glance, he just patted her head and walked away.

She sat down, smoothing her skirt with clammy hands. She opened her mouth, closed it, and opened it again. "Hi."

It seemed like he wanted to smile. "Hey, sweetie," he said, and reached over to tuck a wing of hair behind her ear. She didn't like not having it as a veil, but she did like the feel of his fingertips on her face. "Feeling all right?"

They had not spoken since her breakdown. "—Yeah," she said, and made to duck her head, but he shot her a critical look, so she let her hair remain drawn back. "… Are you? Feeling all right, I mean."

He did not respond in any way, and she recalled what he'd told her at the clinic. _"If something _was _bothering me, you'd be the last person I'd go to." _

But then… she thought of his head on her shoulder, of the way he'd looked at her so gently. _"Would you ever not forgive your brother for something?"_

And she asked, "Your younger brother… has he left yet? For Switzerland."

Dead silence. She'd made a mistake, a horrible mistake, trying to take more than he was willing to give, to pry in an affair she was lucky to even know of. She was so _stupid_, so dumb, why couldn't she ever keep herself from saying the wrong thing, much less say anything _right_?

Except… he nodded once. Just once. And he even—he even _answered_. "Yesterday," he said tonelessly. "He left yesterday."

She breathed out, and almost said she was sorry. But the words seemed hollow, so she kept them to herself. She didn't know what else to say, though. He was staring past her, maybe at something but probably at nothing, or at least nothing anyone else could see. Not her, anyway.

_Look at me. Look at _me_._

And then—and then—_What the hell_. "Niou-senpai," she said softly, and his name hung between them, a spider-web of a connection. "Look at me."

He did. He looked at her in a way that was—it was stripped, like he felt either too much or nothing at all, and raw, the sort of raw that burned and stung, like a whole layer of skin had been ripped away.

She swallowed. She swallowed, and touched his face. She said, "Hi."

He smiled a little. He said, "Sayoko."

~x~

"Tachibana," called Shimizu the next day. They were at the tournament grounds, and she and Fuyumi stood apart from the other girls. "Tachibana, are you okay to play today?"

"What? Of course I am."

Fuyumi mostly looked sleepy, but the blond girl beside her looked unconvinced, and maybe even serious. "You've been pretty… preoccupied, lately. And it's starting to manifest in your game. We can pull you from the lineup today, it's not a big—"

"No," said An. "No, I want to play. I—I _need _to play." She needed to work off her stress, her anxiety, her frustration. "Really, don't worry about me. I won't let you down."

The older girls exchanged a long glance, neither seeming particularly confident, but finally Shimizu nodded. "All right. Go get 'em."

Fuyumi added quietly, "We're counting on you."

Their opponent that day was a good level or two above those they'd played previously. In Doubles 2, they actually got a game off of Rikkai's Fujimaru and Watanabe, something the two girls—not to mention the rest of the team—would pay for, come Monday. But Fuyumi and Takamiya were ruthless and relaxed in their domination of Doubles 1, and so, as ever, it fell to An to close it out.

The girl she was playing had a ruddy complexion, square shoulders, and strong arms. She called the racquet-spin correctly, and her first serve was an ace. An, who had stood frozen as the ball rushed past her, stared at the mark, and got a sinking feeling in her stomach.

It wasn't that she was outclassed, because she wasn't. She _wasn't_. She could take this girl, could crush her, could run circles around her on any given day of the week. But—but from the get-go, nothing was going _right_. The ball bounced funny, the breeze worked against her, the umpire made bad calls.

She got upset, she got angry. She started taking hard, fast, careless swings that sometimes would result in amazing shots, in screaming winners. Most of the time, they soared out-of-bounds.

"Calm down," Fuyumi ordered during a change-over. "You're falling to pieces out there. Just go back to the fundamentals. Your footwork. Stop, hit, wrap. Watch the ball. You're better than this, Tachibana. Play like it."

She tried. She _tried_, but things only got worse. The net seemed to grow every time she swung, and the court to stretch on forever when she tried to chase down a ball. She ran and ran and ran, but she was never fast enough, she was slow and stupid and clumsy, damn it, damn, damn, get it together, Tachibana, _damn _it.

To no one's surprise, but to her own immense rage, she lost the first set at a dismal 2 – 6.

Fuyumi's face was pale, and the line of her mouth grim. She said, "All right. All right, fine. The first set doesn't matter. Forget about it. All right? Forget. Just start over. Take the second set, and then the third. It'll be fine. Just calm down. Focus. Stick to your fundamentals."

_For God's sake, kid, stop humiliating our entire school _went unsaid, but it came through loud and clear all the same.

Loud and clear, but completely unachievable. An's play _worsened _in the second set. Her opponent had grown confident in the face of the chestnut-haired girl's doubt and frustration, and began hitting winner after goddamned winner. An could only look on in helplessness and horror.

_I can't lose, _she thought desperately, sick with fear, with dread. _Oh, God, I can't lose. What would Shimizu-fukubuchou say? Yukimura-senpai? Oniichan? I can't lose. I can't, I can't, I just _can't lose_._

She lost.

The only sound was that of An's heavy breathing as the two girls shook hands. The Rikkai supporters looked on in appalled silence, and the general spectators, who had come in droves when word spread that Rikkai was on the brink of losing Singles 3, in disbelief. Even her opponent's team seemed stunned.

An didn't know what to say to Fuyumi when she walked over to the bench. With the loss of her match, it seemed, had come a complete loss for words. But it didn't matter; the captain would not even look at her—she wouldn't even _look _at her. "Katsuragi," she said instead. "You better be ready to play."

Katsuragi was. The older girl passed her as she stepped onto the court, leaving a great deal of room between them, as if she could catch the losing virus. The rest of the team, as well, avoided her like the plague. No one wanted to be shamed by association, though she'd already brought disgrace upon the whole team.

And Shimizu. Oh, God, Shimizu. Her green-gray eyes were fixed on the court straight ahead, arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her jaw was tense, her lips practically bloodless from how firmly she pressed them together. An had never seen her so angry.

And she had never more wanted to cry.

She wished that someone would glare at her, would yell at her, would _hit _her, just something, anything that meant they still at least _acknowledged _her. Something other than this cold, pitiless silence.

She sat down, stared at her knees. _They're going to drop me from the regulars. They're going to _kick me off the team_. What have I done? Why is this happening? Why has everything started going _wrong_?_

She needed an answer, a reason, an excuse. She thought she might have one.

Katsuragi, in what was surely a don't-be-fooled-Rikkai-is-far-better-than-that-Tachibana-chick-led-you-to-believe display, crushed her opponent with brutal, almost malicious efficiency, meaning that, despite An's absolutely abysmal performance, they had won the match. After the closing ceremonies were through, the team assembled for Fuyumi's parting words.

But the tall brown-haired girl did not seem to know what to say. She just stood there with a frighteningly blank expression. Finally she said, "You're dismissed. We'll practice on Monday."

"Be ready to work your _asses _off," Shimizu added darkly.

The other girls dispersed hurriedly—no one wanted to stick around until Fuyumi found words to express exactly how disgusted she was—but An lingered, and Shimizu shot her a narrow look. "Well, you heard her. Get _out _of here."

An didn't even have the strength to cringe. "I… I'm sorry."

"Oh, are you?" The blond girl's voice was poisonously bright. "That's a relief. I'm _so _glad to hear it. Really, it just solves everything. The way you played like a straight-up loser? Forget about it. The way you humiliated all of us? No problem." Her voice rose. "The way you _insisted _on playing, even knowing you weren't at your best—the way you put your own selfishness before the team—"

"Shimizu." Fuyumi's tone could not have been flatter. "That's enough." The shorter girl fell silent, but it only made her glower more apparent. Without another word, the captain and vice-captain turned, falling into step seamlessly, and walked away, the word _Rikkai _emblazoned across the backs of their jackets, stark and proud and condemning.

An almost sank to her knees.

She wasn't sure how long she just stood there, but the next thing she knew, Kirihara was snapping his fingers in front of her face. "Hey," he said.

She stared at him dumbly. "Akaya."

"That's my name," he agreed, and stuffed his hands in his pockets. With his shoulders almost hunched, he shifted his weight from foot to foot, looking like he wanted nothing more than to just run—run away from her. "Well," he said at length. "Well, come on." He took her by the arm, started to tow her along, but she tore free of him.

"Don't _do _that." Her hands were fisted at her sides. "You can't just—just grab me and pull me around. I'm not your dog."

"You're a pain in the ass, is what you are," he snapped, only to bite down viciously on his lower lip. "Look," he said through gritted teeth, "look. It sucks about your loss. Okay? It _sucks_. But—" He raked a hand through his hair. "But I don't _know_, okay? I don't know what to tell you. Just stop looking at me like that."

Her voice was slow, harsh. "Like _what_?"

"Like it's _my _fault you're falling apart at the seams."

"Maybe it is." Her fingernails drew blood where they cut into her palms. "Maybe it _is_. Ever since—I don't even—I _hate _it." She hated the events of the past week, hated the way she'd been acting, the way she'd been feeling.

She hated the girl she'd become, and hated _him _for turning her into that girl.

He took a step toward her, maybe to hear her better, maybe to knock her down. His lips were drawn back in a sneer. "Hate what?"

"Everything," she choked out. "I hate _everything_. I just—nothing's going right, and none of this should have happened, this isn't how it's supposed to _go_. This isn't me!"

"Oh, shut _up_," he snarled. "So you finally figured out you're not as perfect as you always thought you were. That's just such a goddamned _downer_. Well, guess what? Nobody gives a damn."

Her shoulders shook. "It's your fault. If it weren't for you, none of this would have happened." It was his fault she'd estranged all of her friends, his fault she'd become so consumed by anger and dissatisfaction, _his _fault it had shown up in her game. His fault she'd lost.

"Of course." His laughter hurt to listen to. "Of _course_. Nothing's ever your fault. Did it ever occur to you that _you're _the one who chased _me _around? That _you're _the one who asked _me _out?"

"I _wish I hadn't_." The words were sharp and strident and honest, and Kirihara's eyes widened. He looked… hurt.

And then he grinned. It was the most awful thing she'd ever seen. "Wish granted. Have a nice fucking life, Tachibana."

He walked away.

~x~

She didn't go home. She couldn't return to that empty apartment. But where could she go? She'd driven everyone away. Her boyfriend—now _ex-_boyfriend—and all of her friends. The only person she wanted to turn to was on the other side of the world.

So she walked. She just walked out of the tournament grounds, past the bus stop and the train station. She walked all the way back to her region of Kanagawa. It would have been a twenty-minute train ride, and it took her hours.

Her feet ached, and her shoes rubbed blisters on her heels. She walked through the park, and through the shopping districts. Past people and signs and stores all smearing together into a blur of things she did not care about because it was over, all over, she'd ruined everything.

As the sun went down, she found herself walking up the Yukimuras' front steps, ringing the doorbell. She just—she couldn't take it anymore, couldn't stand herself. She needed a friend. She needed _someone_.

The door opened, and she drew breath to speak—but it was Yukimura standing there, not Sayoko. She'd all but forgotten he lived there as well. "Y-Yukimura-senpai…"

He wore blue cotton pants and a light gray T-shirt, and seemed just as baffled to see her as she was to see him. "Tachibana-kun. Tachibana-kun, are you all right? Do you need something?" When she could only stare at him, he asked gently, "What can I do for you?"

"I…" He looked concerned, and caring. Almost protective. It made tears prick the backs of her eyes. "I thought… I thought that Sayoko…"

"She's upstairs. I can get her for you. Would you like to come in?"

"It's—I'm—" She put her hands up to her face. "I'm sorry." Her voice cracked. "I'm s-sorry to bother you—"

"Tachibana-kun." He moved toward her, placed his hands on her shoulders. His angel-blue eyes held hers, soft and lovely, but his tone was firm when he said, "Tell me why you're so upset. What's wrong?"

And there it was. Her breaking point. "It's—it's all my—" She choked on a sob, and the tears came, hot and relentless and something of a relief. Without a second thought, she threw herself into his arms, and cried, "Everything…! It's all…

"It's all my _fault_."

* * *

This chapter sucks. FML.

Disclaimer: I do not own _Prince of Tennis_, or Thriving Ivory's "Angels on the Moon" (lyrics at the top).


	27. You're So Much Stronger Than This

**250 Dark Stars**

_(Don't be afraid any longer_

_Don't be afraid_

_You're so much stronger than this)_

…

Sayoko frowned, and lowered the volume on her laptop, so that Katy Perry's voice was all but inaudible. Getting out of bed, she almost tripped on her too-long pajama pants as she hurried down the stairs. What was that noise? It almost sounded like…

"Oniisan? Oniisan, what's going—…?" She stopped halfway, a hand flying to cover her mouth. Her brother was escorting a hysterical Tachibana An to the couch, where he held her as she cried, rubbing her back and murmuring something.

The chestnut-haired girl, in the midst of a breakdown the scope of which impressed even _Sayoko_, was sobbing and shaking, completely inconsolable. Because she'd lost her match? Surely that wasn't enough to inspire this, not even considering how competitive An was.

Her brother looked up then, raised his eyebrows, and she shook her head to indicate that no, she had no idea what could have prompted this. Unless…_Kirihara_, she mouthed to him. The black-haired boy had been in a foul temper earlier that day. Had Yanagi not—barely—restrained him in Doubles 2, he probably would have begun aiming for his opponents.

Sayoko lingered on the staircase, watching her brother comfort the other girl. Jealousy and resentment churned in her stomach, turned into something black and burning. _He's _my _brother. Mine. It's not my fault yours didn't love you enough to stay with you._

Except… if their parents allowed him to… her brother would leave in a heartbeat. She knew her rank in his life, and that it had always been below Tennis. No matter how much she reached reached reached for him, he would always be reaching for something else.

As she collected sheets and pillows from the linens closet, she noticed him watching her with a soft, pleased look. Like he was proud of her for readying the guestroom, despite being at odds with An. For being mature.

He didn't know she was only doing it to distract herself from the truth, the one that never hurt any less, no matter how many times she was confronted by it. The truth that made her want to curl up in a ball and cry herself hoarse.

The truth that she loved him more than he loved her.

When she came back downstairs, she found that her brother was in the kitchen, making tea. An remained on the couch, her arms around her knees and a blanket draped over her shoulders. She looked up, her large blue-gray eyes stricken, bloodshot. "S-Sayoko," she said. "Sayoko, I—" She cut herself off, made sort of a choked, whimpering sound.

It was… pitiful.

Something in Sayoko's chest went hard and cold, like a lake freezing over. Because she realized then… that with a couple of words, with a derisively curled lip… she could hurt the other girl. Could crush her just as effectively as her brother did his opponents on the tennis court.

And she wanted to. She _wanted _to. For what seemed like the first time ever, she was the one with power, the one looking down on someone weaker, more vulnerable. It was—it was a heady feeling, a mix of triumph and delight and a mean, mean satisfaction.

_Who's the screwup now? _she wanted to sneer. _Who's the screwup _now_?_

Except… except she remembered kneeling by a toilet, retching and crying. She remembered the humiliation and the suffering, the great frightening emptiness of being alone, all alone. And she remembered hands gathering her hair back, as well as a quiet calm voice.

She remembered that. And it—it _mattered_.

But even more than that… _"I'm going to change," _she'd told Niou. _"I'm going to become someone strong, and mature. Not just someone that doesn't constantly need the help of others… but someone that other people can count on."_

She was already a failure. She couldn't be a liar, too.

"Sayoko…" An's voice was small. "I'm—I d-don't even—_God_, I'm just so sor—"

"Don't," said Sayoko. "Just… don't, all right? Don't apologize." Each step was an effort, but she went and knelt by the couch. "I don't want to forgive you." Her hands, clasped loosely in her lap, looked very small, and pale. "I'm not like you. Forgiving someone, even a friend—it's difficult for me. And I certainly can't go out of my way to help a stranger.

"But… but _really_, I wish…" Her eyelids lowered. "I wish that you'd done something truly awful. I wish that everything you said was unfounded, and that you were acting on something other than concern for me. I wish you didn't deserve my forgiveness.

"Because then… if I forgave you… it would be—it would mean something, wouldn't it? It would mean that I've gotten stronger, more mature." She swallowed, smiled a little. "It would mean that—that I _am _like you. Someone brave, and kind.

"… But I'm not." She laughed. It was a very unhappy sound. "I'm an ugly, selfish person with ugly, selfish feelings, and forgiving you—it doesn't really mean anything. You know? It just _doesn't_. Because… you said… some terrible stuff… but so did I.

"And what you did… I understand that you thought you were doing the right thing. I don't think it was, but—I understood all along. That you act on what you think is right. I'm not like that. I just…" She shrugged listlessly. "And so… I don't even—I don't even know what I'm saying anymore.

"It's just that—I forgive you. I'm sorry, and I forgive you, and I wish… I wish that it meant something."

~x~

An stared at her. For the first time since she'd begun speaking, Sayoko looked up at her, and—and she almost drew back, the other girl's eyes were so blue and bright and sad, so sad. The chestnut-haired girl almost choked. _No one should ever look that sad._

"Sayoko… really. Really, you shouldn't—_I'm _the one that—I can't even tell you how sorry I—"

Sayoko shook her head. "Seriously—seriously, just don't. I can't—" She stood up abruptly. "I'm going to get you some pajamas to change into, all right? And I'll call your aunt, explain what's going on." She hurried away, taking the stairs two at a time, her face obscured by her hair.

An could only sit there, speechless and astonished and on the verge of tears. Had she not noticed Yukimura right then, she probably would have begun crying again. "Yu-… Yukimura-senpai…"

The older boy leaned against the doorway that led to the kitchen, his arms crossed loosely over his chest. He said quietly, "Sayoko has… a tremendous capacity to love."

He walked over, and sat beside her on the couch, his elbows propped on his knees. "She really does. It's—honestly, it's remarkable." His smile was small. "I'm very fortunate to have a sister who loves me as much as Sayoko does.

"The only thing," he continued, "is that she is incredibly selective in whom she chooses to give that love to. Once again, Tachibana-kun, I want to thank you for everything you've done for her." She started to protest, but he held up a hand. "Even when you fight. Even when you both make mistakes.

"Before, if someone were to upset her… that would be it. She wouldn't forgive them. If something pushed her back or pushed her down, she wouldn't get up and try to move forward again.

"But because of you, she's grown. Your influence… it's really had an effect on her." Though his smile grew, the happiness it expressed shrunk. "More than mine."

An didn't know what to say, how to make him feel better. She could have told him what he already knew—that Sayoko loved him with all of her heart and lungs and spleen, and at _least _a third of her liver.

But that wouldn't fix the problem. More importantly, much as she might want to… it wasn't her problem to fix.

And it wasn't like she hadn't already created enough of her own, anyway.

So she just let him get her a cup of tea, and leaned against him as she sipped it. He provided such a sense of safety, of security. Like he could take care of her, could keep away all the mistakes she'd made, all the people she'd wronged. Like he could put her life back together for her.

Like he could make Kirihara her friend again.

But when she recalled the look on the black-haired boy's face, the way he'd grinned at her… she was pretty sure that that was something even the Child of God couldn't fix.

~x~

When she got up the next morning, she showered and changed into a spare uniform of Sayoko's. The other girl was a little taller and somewhat curvier, but for the most part the clothes fit okay.

And honestly… she just didn't have it in her to care.

She felt empty—gutted. The first thing to inspire any emotion in her was the sight of her school things on the kitchen table. In response to her look of dull surprise, Sayoko said, "Oniisan brought your stuff from your apartment before he left for morning practice."

"But—he must have had to get up so _early_…"

Sayoko only shrugged, and turned back to the stove. "Help yourself to whatever's in the fridge. The rice porridge should be ready soon."

An dropped her face into her hands. The Yukimura siblings—they were doing so _much _for her. They made her feel so much better, and in doing so made her feel so much worse. "I know what you said before, but—please. Can I just say how—"

"I know you're sorry," said the mahogany-haired girl, without facing her. "And I realize… that apologizing would make you feel better. So I understand that I'm asking you to indulge my own selfishness. But please… do it anyway."

"Okay," said An, because what else _could _she say? "… Can I at least say thank you?"

Sayoko went still, before: "Yeah," she said softly. "You can."

"Then… _thank _you, Sayoko. And… what you said, about being like me? I'm…" Her laughter was painful. "I'm really not that great. At all. But you're… honestly… you're one of the bravest people I know."

The other girl turned around. Her features were schooled into a cool mask, but she couldn't hide the trembling in her hands. "It's too early for this sort of thing, don't you think? Just shut up and eat some damn porridge."

An did.

Once they got to school, though, she wanted to throw it back up. Everyone knew of her loss, and news of her breakup with Kirihara was spreading fast. Yet as the two girls walked through the halls, Sayoko put her coldest, haughtiest expression on display, and it fended off the majority of the stares and whispers.

Even An felt pretty intimidated, just standing next to her.

To keep her mind off the negative attention she was being showered with, she came up with names to describe the look Sayoko wore. Most accurate was probably the If-I-Could-Even-Be-Bothered-to-Speak-to-You-I-Would-Tell-You-to-Die-in-a-Hole Look.

But this attempt at comforting herself went to hell when she saw Kirihara. He was with a group of guys lounging against the lockers directly opposite their homeroom. When their eyes met, nothing even registered on his face.

Until he smirked.

"Yo, Tachibana," he called lazily. "Didn't think you'd show up today. Hasn't anyone told you that losers aren't welcome at Rikkai?"

An went white, then red. She could only stare at him, at the boy who had once held her, laughed with her. _"It's okay. Everything will be okay," _he'd told her._"It's just me," _he'd told her.

How had she been stupid enough to drive away that boy?

Left in his place was a guy who looked like he wanted to rip her to shreds.

Sayoko made a faint sound of distaste, and placed a hand on An's shoulder. "He's not worth your time." To Kirihara, she said, "Don't think I'm not shameless enough to tell my brother if you keep being a jerk to her."

He never looked away from An, not even when he sneered, "Believe me, I won't underestimate your shamelessness."

And for some reason… she wanted to hug him. She wanted to hug him and punch him and yell at him. To apologize to him.

She walked away.

~x~

Akaya was pissed off. Actually, he was beyond pissed off. He was about to fucking _murder _somebody.

But that would have gotten him kicked off the team—and there was also the bit about going to prison—so he had to settle for beating the living shit out of anyone and everyone on the other side of the net.

Not even crushing non-regulars, though, was consolation enough when Marui strolled over. "So I have to ask, I really do—how'd you lose your girlfriend in _one week_?"

Akaya jumped for a smash, brought it down with brutal force. "I _really _don't want to talk about it, senpai."

"I didn't _ask _what you wanted to talk about," the redhead scoffed. "I asked what the hell you could possibly have done to screw up a relationship that badly."

Akaya hit a forehand that the third-year playing him had to scramble to get out of the way of. "That's just _it_," he said through gritted teeth. "I didn't do_any_thing. Not a single goddamned thing."

"Watch your mouth," barked a too-familiar voice. Sanada strode over, his face darkened by more than his hat. Noting the second-year's opponent, who was slumped on the ground in exhaustion, he ordered, "Take some laps, Akaya."

"But I haven't done anything _wrong_." It was becoming the story of his own damn life.

Sanada was unperturbed. Behind him, Marui's expression was a blend of empathy and amusement. "Take some laps anyway. It might work some discipline into your thick skull."

Akaya had learned better than to argue. "How many?" he grumbled.

"Just keep running until I tell you to stop."

"Are you _kidding _me?" he almost demanded, only to consciously restrain himself. Still, he shot the older boy a sour look as he threw his racquet down and jogged off, aware that the vice-captain would make him run even longer to make up for "abuse of equipment" or some other such bullshit.

Ten laps later, no discipline had been worked into his skull. He wasn't calming down. Instead, with every stride, he got angrier, more wound-up. _"It's your fault," _An had said, but it was hers that Sanada was running him into the ground, _hers _that he was so mad.

And… her fault that he wasn't just angry. Her fault that he was hurt, and humiliated, and just—_incredulous_. What the hell had gotten _into _her? She'd always been pretty self-righteous, and something of a goody-goody, but it was like she'd flipped the bitch-switch the moment they'd started dating.

Gone had been the girl he'd felt so drawn to, the one who liked tennis and laughed a lot and smiled at him like he was special. In her place had been a girl who was all frowns and muttered comments, irritation and disapproval.

A girl he would very much like to break.

As he ran, he spotted another girl of that sort. Sayoko sat on the bleachers, scribbling in a notebook and mumbling to herself. There were a million reasons not to antagonize her, and he knew that, he really did, but—but damn if he didn't need to take his bad mood out on someone. Especially on the person who may have been the negative influence that turned An into a raging bitch.

After ascertaining that Sanada was preoccupied, and Yukimura and Niou not even in sight, he dropped down to a walk, and approached to stand before her. She was too self-absorbed to even notice him, so he said, "Giving me the cold shoulder, huh? I'm hurt, I really am."

She looked up, openly surprised, before her expression turned into one of chilly disdain. "What do you want?"

He smirked. "What, I need a reason to talk to you? Come on, we're like, _best _friends. Remember that time we braided each other's hair?"

She crossed one leg over the other, and leaned back, with her chin tilted up and her eyebrows raised. It made her look too much like her brother for Akaya's comfort. "Baiting me isn't the way to get back at An, you know. You're just wasting your time."

He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, and scrambled for words that would hurt her. "_You're _one to talk about wasting time. How much of Yukimura-buchou's day is spent fixing all the things you screw up?"

Her eyes narrowed to slivers of blue.

Having hit a nerve, it only made sense to continue in the same vein. "I mean, seriously, you have to feel bad for the guy," he continued. "To be saddled with dead-weight like you. You should have seen how happy he was, that year you were gone." He sneered. "Why did you even _bother _coming back?

"We'd all be better off without you, your brother most of all."

Sayoko stood. "Shut up," she said quietly, her hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. "Shut your mouth _right now_."

As distractions from his anger went, this was wonderfully entertaining. "Or what? You'll cry?" He put his hands in his pockets. "Sorry, but that won't work on me. If you want, I can go get Niou-senpai. It seems to have some effect on him. Probably 'cause you look so pathetic, he's moved to pity."

"I told you to _be quiet_."

He wished she would take her own advice; the pitch of her voice was rising, attracting attention from the non-regulars around them, who watched uneasily. His more sensible side urged him to drop it, to walk away, leave her alone.

He'd never had much use for his sensible side.

"Oh, calm _down_," he scoffed. "It's not like I'm making things up. You start blubbering, and Niou-senpai and all the rest of 'em come and fuss over you. That's how it always goes. Is it like, a literal cry for attention or whatever?"

"I _told _you," she ground out, "whatever you think you're accomplishing here, it won't affect things with An. You're not getting revenge, and you'll never get her back." When he glared at her, she treated him to a dagger of a smile.

"You'll never get her back," she said again. "She's realized how awful you are. Took her long enough, didn't it? I guess you did hide it pretty well, for a while there. But you know what? If she figured it out, so will everyone else.

"In time, you won't fool anyone. _Everyone_ will know you're a monster, and they'll hate you for it." Her voice shook. "No one will _ever _love you."

"Shut _up_," he snapped, wanting nothing more than to deck her. They'd see how pretty she was with a broken jaw. "Just shut your mouth. Maybe you're right. You know what? Maybe you're _right_. But I'm fine with that. I don't need anyone.

"But you? Who could ever love _you_? And you need to be loved, don't you? You want it more than anything, and _that's _the saddest thing of all. You follow Niou-senpai around like a puppy, and he _still _has a revolving-door of girls, ones he'd rather be with."

She went red from the hollow of her throat all the way up to her hairline, and he felt a vicious sort of pleasure. "Forgotten about that, had you? Aw, did you think you _meant _something to him? That he'd make you his girlfriend?" He laughed. "I bet you already have a wedding dress picked out. I bet—"

In his peripherals, he saw her hand draw back, and was able to snatch it out of the air before she could slap him. She jerked back, tried to tear away from him, but his vision had gone red, and he maintained his grip on her wrist, squeezed, squeezed, squeezed—

Until she cried out, and he released her, staring down at his hand with a suddenly racing heart. What had he done? Oh, _shit_, what had he _done_?

Someone else shared the sentiment. "What the _fuck _is going on here?"

Niou was moving toward them, his strides long and quick, his jaw set. Behind him lurked the non-regular that must have fetched him. The silver-haired boy went directly to Sayoko's side; she was clutching her wrist to her chest, and tried to turn away from him, but he caught at her arm.

"Show me," he said gently. When she did, his eyes went wide. "_Kirihara._"

"I," said the black-haired boy. "I—I didn't—"

Sayoko was visibly shaking, whether with pain or rage or fear or all three, and Niou placed himself squarely in front of her. His look of anger and incredulity was for Akaya alone, as was his low demand of "What did you think you were _doing_?"

"I don't—it's not like—I didn't _mean _to," he said desperately. "I just—I just got _mad_, and—you can't tell Yukimura-buchou!" He gave the older boy an imploring look. "I'm sorry, okay? I really am. I didn't mean to. But you just _can't _tell Yukimura-buchou." As his protégé, Akaya had always had some amount of leeway with the captain, but that wouldn't help him. Not in light of harming his precious baby sister.

Niou just regarded him for a moment, still and silent, clearly weighing his options. Finally he said, "It's… probably in everyone's best interest if Yukimura doesn't find out about this." He shot Akaya a narrow look, one that made him swallow hard. "I don't know what's gotten into you, but this had _better _be the end of it."

Without another word, he led the mahogany-haired girl away, and Akaya could only watch them go.

Maybe he really was a monster.

~x~

"Holy shit," said Marui when he intercepted Niou and Sayoko outside the clubhouse. He was peering at Sayoko's wrist. "_Akaya _did that? Holy _shit_. If Yukimura sees this—"

"He won't," said Niou flatly. "I need you to go be obnoxious enough to keep him, Yanagi, and Sanada from entering the clubhouse for at least fifteen minutes. I need ten to ice her wrist, and then more time to wrap it."

"Practice ends soon," the redhead reminded him. "Everyone will be coming in. I'd have to cause a pretty big distraction."

"Your proclivity for telling me things I already know is charming, really it is."

Marui glared. "I'd have to be really disruptive. Why do _you _get to wrap her wrist, and _I _have to risk Sanada's wrath?"

"Because I'm her favorite," said Niou breezily, with a light touch to the side of Sayoko's head. "Sweetie, who would you rather took care of you? Me or this idiot?" She flushed dully, and he smirked. "See? Point proven."

"That proves nothing," Marui muttered. Still, he jogged off anyway, calling over his shoulder, "You _owe _me for this, Niou Masaharu."

Niou made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, and followed Sayoko into the clubhouse. She took a seat on the sofa while he rummaged in the cooler for a gel-back. After he'd wrapped one in a towel, he enclosed it around her wrist, which was discolored, and already beginning to swell.

From where he sat beside her, he whistled lowly. "How badly does it hurt?"

She mumbled, "It's not as bad as it looks." That was true, of course, but _damn_, did it hurt.

The amusement in his voice was plain. "Look at you, acting tough. That's adorable."

Sayoko scowled. She didn't _want _to be adorable, and she _hated _how he treated her like a child. How he babied her. But… she recalled sitting on the bench with him, and his look of such—rawness. He'd been entirely without pretense, entirely vulnerable.

And she'd felt so _protective _of him. It was laughable, but there it was. For whatever reason, he seemed so dead-set against showing anyone his more human side. As if—and this was purely her own fanciful speculation—he were afraid of getting hurt.

She did not want anyone to hurt him. She would _kill _anyone that hurt him.

So maybe, just maybe… he felt something like that when it came to her. And maybe coddling her was his way of showing it. Or maybe she was a self-deluded fool. Each scenario was equally likely.

In the spell of time she'd been silent, Niou's mind had turned to other things. "Maybe we _should _tell your brother," he said carefully, in a rare instance of second-guessing himself.

"No," she said immediately. "No, Oniisan can't know. Promise me. Promise me you won't tell him."

He lifted an eyebrow. "And why should I promise that?"

"Because he'll worry. He'll worry, and he'll be disappointed, and he'll have to deal with Kirihara, and—"

"_How much of Yukimura-buchou's day is spent fixing all the things you screw up?"_

"And… I'm enough of a burden on him already," she finished, eyes downcast. "I can't trouble him more. I won't. He has too much to handle as it is. He needs—we have to keep this from him. All right? For his own sake."

Niou toyed with a lock of her hair. He said, "Sweetie, I'm not trying to hurt your feelings, all right? But… your brother doesn't need to be taken care of. You trying to look out for him…" He shrugged, almost apologetically. "It's kind of pathetic."

She could only imagine his ridicule if he knew she wanted to protect _him _as well.

"I know that." She laughed a little. "You think I don't _know _that? But… I have to try. Wouldn't I be even more pathetic, if I didn't at least try?"

He said nothing.

It made her want to shake him, to shake some _emotion _out of him. "What do you want me to say?" she snapped. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry I'm not strong. I'm sorry I'm not like you, or Oniisan, or An. I'm _sorry_." To no one's surprise, tears gathered in the corners of her eyes.

"All right? Is that what you w-wanted?" she went on bitterly. "I'm sorry I'm just me."

"No," he sighed, and put his arm around her. "No, Sayoko, don't cry. That's not what I wanted." She ducked her head, tried to pull away, but he made her face him. "Listen," he said, "listen to me. Who else do you think I would do this for?"

He gestured expansively to the gel-pack around her wrist, to his arm around her shoulders. Maybe just to _being _there with her. "Name one person, sweetheart. Name one other person."

She could only stare at him.

"Exactly," he said, and… and maybe she wished them up, but maybe she heard the words he wouldn't say.

_There's nothing wrong with you._

She sniffled, and allowed him to draw her nearer. "There," he said. "You want to keep this from your brother, right? So cheer up. It needs to look like nothing's wrong."

A shaky, hysterical giggle bubbled up in her. "W-Wouldn't it be less suspicious if I _was _in tears?" She nestled further into his side—_not _that she was taking advantage of the situation, or anything. "I mean, shouldn't we make this look like a normal day?"

"Such a bleak sense of humor is alarming in a girl your age," he observed, but he was smiling.

He was smiling, and Sayoko very much wished he would kiss her.

* * *

Too many things are going on I can't address them all gahhhhhh. In other news... nevermind, I forget what I was going to say.

Disclaimer: I do not own _Prince of Tennis_, or Green River Ordinance's "Don't Be Afraid" (lyrics at the top).


	28. And We'll Wake Up in the Breakdown

**250 Dark Stars**

_(I'm too old for a slow parade_

_Think it's time to go my own way_

_Oh my, gotta keep moving on)_

…

"Shimizu-fukubuchou…?"

The addressed girl didn't look up from pulling on her knee-high black socks. "What?"

Morning conditioning had finished, and most of the team had already changed and left for the school building. But An lingered in the locker room, arms hugged to her chest. "So… is that it, then? Are you just going to be mad at me forever?"

"I don't know." Her voice was disconcertingly calm. "Forever's an awfully long time. I'm not sure I have the attention-span for that. So how long do _you _think I should be angry?" She shoved her feet into her shoes. "Is there some formula that determines exactly how long I should hold it against you?"

"… No."

"Then what, Tachibana? What do you want me to say?" She stood up and slammed a hand into the lockers. An flinched at the suddenness, at the noise. "That it's all right to lose? It's not. This is _Rikkai_. That 'having fun and trying your best is what's important' mentality is bullshit. _Winning _is what matters, and if you're not prepared to do anything to win, you shouldn't have come to this school."

"I know that," said An desperately, holding the other girl's green-gray eyes with hers. "I _know_. I want to win. I want to win _so badly_. And I know I messed up, and that you have every right to be mad, but—I've learned my lesson and I'll never screw up like that again and—" She kicked the floor. "And…

"And I guess you can stay mad at me the whole season. I guess even forever. But… the only way I know how to make it up to you is to play tennis. All I want to do is play, fukubuchou. I'll work harder than anybody. I'll win—I'll win for Rikkai, every time. That's all I want to do."

The blond girl looked unconvinced. "What you may or may not want isn't high on my list of priorities right now."

"I understand that. I deserve that." An fisted her hands in her hair. "But—_please_. Please. Isn't winning the best way to make up for losing? This is the only way I know how to redeem myself. This is—" She swallowed hard.

"I've… these past few weeks… I've just—I've _hated _myself. The way I've been… the _person _I've been… it's not me." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Or maybe it is. Maybe it _is_, but—but I don't want to be that person, that awful, judgmental—

"Anyway." She drew a deep breath. "Anyway. The point is, things will be different from now on. I swear. You can count on me. Because that girl that let you down…

"I won't be that girl any longer."

Shimizu grimaced, looked away. "Well, that's all fine and dandy for you, but—" She sighed, yanked on a lock of her hair. "Who am I kidding? I'm not really one to talk, when it comes to doing stupid shit over guys. It's normal. But it's just—

"We have to be better than normal, you know? Because… everybody thinks, 'Oh, girls' tennis—they're just doing it for the boys.' And that's such absolute _crap_. And—and the worst, _worst _thing we could do… is prove people right."

An smiled a little to herself. "Believe me," she said. "I'm done being an idiot over a guy."

"I believe you," said Shimizu, with a sort of soft, peculiar earnestness. Then, she narrowed her eyes. "Don't think this means you're off the hook."

Being punished was better than being ignored, as had been the case at practice the day before. An's sad smile took on a tint of relief, and of hope. "Yes, fukubuchou."

"Very well," said Shimizu, with great dignity. "Then you may escort me to the nurse's office. Hitting the lockers, while bursting with dramatic flair, was not the wisest decision I have ever made."

An ducked her head to hide a grin. "Yes, fukubuchou."

~x~

"So? Did he find out? We're busted, aren't we? _Aren't _we?" Marui groaned theatrically. "I never should have let you two talk me into this."

Sayoko looked at him in exasperation. She knew he was—mostly—kidding, but still. "Senpai, you know as well as I do that if Oniisan had found out we were hiding this from him, you'd have already heard about it by now."

"So keep your big mouth shut," Niou advised, his half-lidded eyes indolently scanning the faces passing by in the second-year hallway.

"Perhaps by shoving a cake in it," the mahogany-haired girl suggested solemnly, only to let a quiet giggle escape when Marui turned on her with a mock-glare.

Niou quirked an eyebrow, and said to her, "We need to work on your poker-face."

She would have said that she preferred _Twister_ to poker, but Marui cut in with a sigh. "Can you blame a guy for not wanting to get on Yukimura's bad side? If any one of those non-regulars loses his nerve…"

"Doubt it," said Niou complacently, lounging against the lockers in a way that Sayoko did not find sexy at all. Not at_ all. _"I think I rather stressed the negative effects of fessing up."

That he had. To the non-regulars who knew of Kirihara hurting Sayoko's wrist, he'd announced that if Yukimura found out on his own, he'd have the people who'd been in on it run extra suicides, nothing too terrible. But if one of them were to come clean to the captain…

Niou would make that person's life, to use his exact phrase, "decidedly unpleasant."

"Still." Marui ran a hand through his stylishly layered hair, which garnered not only a little female attention. Having this discussion somewhere less public would have been nice. But they were speaking quietly, and it wasn't unusual for her brother's teammates to be seen with her during (or, in this case, before) school, so Sayoko wasn't overly concerned.

"Still," the volley-specialist said again, and turned to her. "You've kept your sleeve down ever since, haven't you?"

Niou shot him a faintly disdainful look before Sayoko could even bristle. "She's not an idiot."

Marui's indignant "I know that, I was just making _sure_" fell on deaf ears. A small, shy smile was blooming on the blue-eyed girl's face. Because as indescribably sad as it was… that was probably the closest Niou had ever come to paying her a genuine compliment.

He noticed this, of course. "Oh, stop grinning. Now you _look _like an idiot." But when her smile only grew, a corner of his own mouth quirked up, and—

"Not that this isn't a beautiful moment," Marui interrupted dryly, "but I'm going to go buy what may be, if someone rats us out to Yukimura, my last snack ever, or at least the last one before second period today. Now, shall I buy chips or cookies, you may ask? An excellent question. These are the decisions I face…"

And on that note, he strolled away, humming what, had it been on-key, would probably have been the tune to "Viva la Vida." As it was, it sounded like he was clearing his throat in a loud, terrifically enthusiastic manner.

Sayoko covered her mouth, catching her giggles in the palm of her hand. "I think sugar has addled Marui-senpai's brain."

"I once thought the same," drawled her silver-haired companion, "but I've since concluded that he was born addled. His parents are, I imagine, waiting until he leaves for university to tell him that he's adopted, and that his biological mother is a crack-addict."

"They might not even have the guts to tell him outright," she mused, rocking back on her heels. "They might just hide a note in his suitcase: 'Dear not-really-son, your whole life is a lie. Lulz. Love, your so-called parents.'"

Niou turned his head, so that she only dimly heard what might have been soft laughter. Even as she beamed, she realized… that she knew hardly anything about _his_ family. Only that his parents were probably getting divorced, and his younger brother had left for Switzerland because of it.

How did _Niou _feel about it? Had his parents always had a bad relationship? If they did split up, whom would he live with? Did he have any other siblings?

He didn't give her a chance to speculate further. "Come here," he said, his lips still upturned and his voice almost—no, it couldn't have been warm. It wasn't in his nature to speak _warmly_. Still, she moved closer, and he took her by the wrist.

Her flinch was immediate and automatic, and he withdrew his hand quickly. "Did I hurt you?"

"No," she said, hunching her shoulders, "no, I just—sorry." She'd just _remembered _the pain.

"Don't be." With the utmost gentleness, he held her wrist again, turning it over in his hands, pressing and probing lightly. It was still wrapped, and she wore her white blouse buttoned at the cuffs so no one could see. Even through these layers, she had to fight not to shiver at his touch.

"The swelling seems to have gone down," he said lowly. Sayoko made sure her back was angled so that no one could see what he was doing. "It should heal within a week. But it's still hurting, huh."

She studied his hands, slim but strong, with those long, blunt fingers. "… I took some Advil."

"Hmm." He let her go. "I'll find a chance to re-wrap it for you during practice." She nodded without looking up—she didn't want him to see the flush creeping up her neck. So, with her eyes trained as they were on the ground, she saw him step so close that their toes touched.

And she felt him push her hair back, felt him kiss her forehead.

His mouth, hot and firm, lingered on her skin longer than—longer than was probably appropriate, and she heard someone gasp quietly, heard someone else murmur, "Oh my God…"

Needless to say, this did not alleviate her blushing situation. Not. One. Bit.

In fact, her breath hitched audibly, and there was absolutely no way he didn't hear it. Why did he _do _this to her? And in public, no less. He knew she had a crush on him. He _knew_. In light of recent events, she'd all but given up on trying to manipulate his affections, but still he—he was _dangling _himself in front of her, flaunting what she couldn't have.

It was so cruel.

"Stop making fun of me." She whispered it as he drew back. "Please." Her voice cracked. "Stop making _fun _of me."

_It's not funny. The way I feel isn't _funny_._

"I'm not making fun of you," he murmured in her ear. What exactly he thought he was doing went unexplained, for at that moment someone cleared his throat.

"Sorry to interrupt," said Kirihara stiffly. Sayoko started, but Niou pivoted slowly, deliberately, his head tilting to the side. The black-haired boy stood less than ten feet from them, his hands jammed in his pockets. His glare sent everyone else in the hallway scurrying, but then his gaze settled on Sayoko.

Niou glanced at her as well, but she shook her head. "It's all right," she told him, taking a breath and composing her expression, making it cool and untroubled. Her blush hadn't yet faded—and probably wouldn't for a _long _time—but there was nothing to be done about that. "You can leave, senpai."

He regarded her for a moment, with a demeanor she wasn't sure what to name. Then, he lifted a shoulder in a shrug. "I'll see you later, sweetheart." He walked away from her, toward Kirihara, and though she couldn't see the look on Niou's face, the younger boy tensed, and eyed him warily as he passed and turned a corner.

Only then did he move closer to Sayoko—closer than either of them wanted to be, but even less did they want to be overheard, even considering that the halls had mostly cleared by then. "What, you're not afraid of me now?" he muttered. "Thought you would insist on having your bodyguard with you."

She offered him a sunny, sub-zero smile. "You wouldn't dare touch me again. We all know that." He grimaced, but did not disagree, and she continued, "Well, get on with it. Apologize. Cover your bases."

More for the sake of dispute than anything, probably, he blustered, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Are you playing innocent or playing stupid? Only one works for you, and I don't need to clarify which." She clasped her hands behind her back. "And I also don't need to explain that, if Oniisan _does _find out, you want to at least be able to say that you offered me your most _sincere_, _heartfelt _apology."

She smirked, the expression taut and unnatural, a cheap knock-off of someone else's. "Don't worry. If he asks, I'll tell him you came to me on your knees, begging for forgiveness. That you cried and everything."

He didn't snap at her. Instead he asked, almost wearily, "Wouldn't you do the same, if you were in my shoes? I mean, can you _blame _me?"

Marui had asked roughly the same thing only minutes before, and… she could not. She couldn't blame either of them.

So she didn't say anything. Insults and accusations came easily to her; words of understanding and forgiveness did not. If that wasn't troubling, she wasn't sure what was.

"And…" Kirihara kicked at the floor with a sudden viciousness, and she had to pretend she didn't cringe. "I—I really am—you know. Sorry." He muttered the word, wouldn't look at her. "I didn't mean… to do what I did. I just—I'd take it back, if I could. I'd take it back. But I can't."

He sounded genuinely regretful. And despite herself… she felt the faintest scrap of empathy.

She knew what it was like, the helplessness and frustration, the knowledge that never would she be able to take back what she'd said. What she'd done. And what she _hadn't _done.

So she started laughing.

The laughter spilled out of her mouth, light and bright and ringing, and she didn't even try to hold it in. "Wouldn't it… just be… the funniest… thing _ever_… if we… we, of all people… fell in _love_?" She nearly doubled over. "I mean, wouldn't that… just… _suck_?"

"You're crazy," said Kirihara, eyeing her in a distinctly dear-God-this-chick-went-off-the-deep-end way. He even took a step back.

She propped herself up against the lockers. "Imagine it," she giggled, mostly to herself. "If it turned out we've just been misunderstanding each other this whole time… that we actually have stuff in common… oh, _God_…"

"You're _crazy_," Kirihara said again, his face scrunched up in distaste and bewilderment. He seemed about to expound on this, but—

"What's going… on?"

They turned to find An, her hand fisted in the strap of her bag and her expression hesitant, cautious. "Oh," said Sayoko, her shoulders still quivering with the ripples of amusement. "Oh. Hey." It'd taken the other girl much longer than normal to enter the building after conditioning—she'd probably been trying to smooth things over after her loss.

At her appearance, Kirihara's eyes widened, before narrowing. Sayoko anticipated a verbal attack on the chestnut-haired girl, as per the previous morning, but he just stalked by her, with a shoulder-check clearly intended only to hurt emotionally, not physically.

And hurt An emotionally, it did. She dropped her head, and seemed to get _smaller_, as if her distress were literally eating away at her. She whispered, "I'm the worst. The worst sort of person."

Sayoko had said she'd forgiven her, but… deciding on forgiveness was different than actually _feeling_ it. There was a part of her that gloried in An's misery—the other girl had sunk down to Sayoko's level, something that, throughout all their conflicts, her brother had never done. He'd always remained the bigger, better person. Unreachable.

But there was also a part of her that wanted her friend back. That would have done anything to make her smile, or say something silly. A part of her that felt her pain like it was her own, and a part of her that wanted her to be _happy_.

Sayoko smiled a thin, sad smile. She said, "We'll have to fight for that title. And my qualifications for it are stronger than yours… not that I'm bragging." She touched the other girl's arm. "Hey," she said. "Come on.

"The school store should be open for a couple more minutes. I'll buy you a juice-box."

~x~

During lunch, the two girls went to the library. For more than a month, An had neglected the emails her parents and brother sent her. She replied late, and when she did, her responses were brief and vague, with nothing of real or personal value.

Now, she wrote to them about how she'd been feeling down lately. She confessed to her loss, and to her grades slipping. She apologized, and promised to try her best, and improve. She told them about Shimizu's energy, and about the support and magnetism of the Yukimura siblings.

She told them everything she could think of without mentioning Kirihara—what she'd had for breakfast and which book she'd just read and where she'd seen a bunny. She told them that she missed them.

And she told them that things were beginning to look up.

Because… as much as she hated herself for how she'd treated her friends, her team, for how she'd treated Kirihara… she hated with equal vehemence the person she'd been lately.

The person she'd been with him.

If she'd let their friendship progress naturally, if she hadn't pushed or rushed things… she suspected they would have ended up together anyway. She'd felt so _connected _to him. And maybe, when they would have gotten together, she would have been prepared. Would have fully registered all his faults and virtues, and wanted to be with him regardless.

Instead, she'd asked him out so that Hashimoto wouldn't, jumped into the relationship without a second thought or a backwards glance. Without really considering what she was getting herself into.

And in doing so, she'd destroyed what could have been.

It made her miserable. Miserable and angry and upset, regretful and bitter and stupid, she was so _stupid_—

But… she was also free. Free from feeling personally responsible for his bad behavior, free from feeling guilty about dating someone that could be so mean, someone that had hurt her brother. Free of the stress and tension.

So while she may have broken everything… now she could at least start fixing things, start building up again. She could fix her relationships…

And build herself into a better person. Someone that would never make those mistakes again.

At the very damn least, she would make different mistakes. More exciting ones. Like kidnapping the Prime Minister, for example.

"This is unbelievable," Sayoko muttered beside her. Her blue eyes were fixed on her computer screen. "I can't even—he's un_believable_. Of all the egotistical—is he even for _real_?" she demanded.

"Um. Who?"

"Atobe Keigo," her friend ground out, turning her computer screen. "Read this. Read it and be _outraged with me_."

Open on the screen was an email that read, "_Yukimura-kun, in response to your earlier missive, I will admit that your idea intrigues me. However, arranging it via email is terribly uncouth. I would have expected better from you, in light of whom you are related to._

_Nonetheless, I am willing to overlook this. You may call on me at Hyotei Academy tomorrow afternoon, promptly at four o'clock. We will discuss the matter then. Truly, Atobe Keigo._"

An giggled. It felt good. "This is pure Atobe-kun."

"I 'may call on him,'" Sayoko mumbled, slouching down low in her chair, arms crossed over her chest. "What the hell. What the _hell_. And tomorrow, of all days? _Really?_"

"What's tomorrow?"

"My birthday," said the mahogany-haired girl dully. "I mean, it's not a big deal, but still. I didn't want to spend it at Hyotei, listening to some guy that speaks like he's the love child of Mr. Darcy and Julius Caesar."

An wasn't listening—she'd _completely forgotten _about Sayoko's birthday. God, at the rate she was going, she would win Worst Friend of the Year Award, and as she accepted the plaque, they would play a montage of all the times she'd been too caught up in her own drama to pay attention to or care about anyone else.

Now, normally she was a fan of montages. But that one would probably suck, as it would basically just be continuous footage of the past couple weeks.

"Oh, yeah," she said, as if it had only slipped her mind, though she doubted the other girl was fooled. "Well… you could bring it up. Your birthday, I mean. Maybe he'll feel guilty, and negotiate more in your favor. Or maybe he'll buy you an island."

At that, Sayoko looked thoughtful. "I would prefer a plane. I could settle for an island, though. But only if it's in the shape of my face."

"Your face is quite suited to being an island. I've always meant to tell you that."

"Thanks. I actually get that a lot." Sayoko reached under the table to grab her bag, in the process brushing her right wrist against the edge. She recoiled as if burned, swearing under her breath.

An's eyebrows drew together. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"Nothing," said the other girl, her lips thinning out. "Nothing. I just—thought there was a piece of metal sticking out, and I was afraid of getting cut. That's all."

An frowned, but didn't say anything.

~x~

At the beginning of practice, An approached Fuyumi, prepared to give her whole spiel about working hard and never losing again, but before she could even get a word out, the older girl held up a hand. "Save your breath. Shimizu's going to run you till you drop today."

In response to An's nervous, uncertain look, she smiled a little. "It's her way of showing you, and everyone else, that you're still accepted as part of the team."

At first that didn't make any sense, but… the day before, she'd been all but ignored, and had never felt like more of an outcast. Compared to that, any attention, even negative, sounded like a blessing. It made her think of the boys' team; Sanada's slaps, while a punishment, were a sign of belonging. Of being part of the group, and accountable for the high standards therein.

She swallowed. "So… what about you? Are you—angry at me?"

Fuyumi took a racquet from her bag and ran her fingers over the strings, checking their tension. "Whatever you said to Shimizu, it convinced her to give you a second chance. That's good enough for me. I don't need to hear it myself."

As her captain walked away to supervise the first-years putting up nets, An sighed. Though she was relieved Fuyumi wasn't holding a grudge, she almost wished she _would_, if only to show that she cared about An on a personal level.

She'd grown accustomed to incredibly close-knit teams like the boys', or like her brother's old team. But not everyone could be that supportive, that cohesive. Being teammates didn't necessarily translate into being friends.

For example, friends did not make friends run suicides until their legs shook and their breath came in huge, gasping gulps. But An didn't complain. When she couldn't run any faster, she increased her pace. When she couldn't take another step, she took two.

And when finally Shimizu allowed her respite, she collapsed on the ground, without even the energy to pant. The older girl plopped down beside her, chewing on a piece of grass. An couldn't decide whether it made her look tough, or like a cow.

"So I think," she said, around the grass, "that I've kind of made a mistake in my approach to training you. There's a limit to how much individual attention you should get."

There definitely was, at least as far as her teammates were concerned. An knew many girls resented her for getting special training from the vice-captain, and that most of the third-years were greatly displeased that a younger girl was favored so much.

"You're pretty well-acquainted with the boys' team," Shimizu went on. "You know how they function as a unit—which is really amazing, considering how exceptional and individualistic each of them is. That's part, I'm sure, of why they've won so many National titles.

"But I think it's due to Yukimura's leadership. Me and Fuyumi? We don't have that sort of charisma. And honestly, I think it's more trouble than it's worth—but I digress. The point is, even if we can't achieve that level of solidarity… we should still work together more.

"So from now on, you'll be doing a lot more with the other regulars. Cool?"

As if An had a choice. But it really was— "Cool," she nodded, smiling.

She'd never been so happy to belong.

~x~

Kirihara didn't look terribly surprised to find her waiting for him at the school gates that afternoon. And, really, he shouldn't have been. They both knew they had to talk about what had happened. Or, at least, they both knew that _she _had to talk about it. She was that sort of person.

"Hi," she said, and then, very quickly, "look I know you're mad at me but could you just hear me out for like two seconds _please_?"

His expression was scornful, but he didn't just brush by her, which was all she really could have hoped for. "Akaya," she almost said, but didn't. The privilege of using his given name had certainly been revoked.

"Kirihara," she said instead. Honestly, there was something comforting in the familiarity of calling him that. "Kirihara, I—"

"Yeah, yeah," he rolled his eyes. "You're sorry, you want us to be best buds again, you can't _bear _the thought of anyone not getting along with or not liking you. You want everything to go back to the way it was."

"No." She breathed out slowly, kept her voice even. "I am sorry. The way I was acting—I didn't have any right to criticize _your _behavior. But… I don't want things to go back to the way they were. I want… well. You always point out how 'self-righteous' I am.

"And… you're right. I _do _judge people. That's—it's _part _of me. I don't think I can change it, and… I don't think I want to. Because… it's not wrong, I don't think, to stand up for what you think is right. And to expect the best of people, and hold them to a high standard.

"But… only if the person judging—only if _I _meet that standard myself. You know? Only if I'm not being a hypocrite. That's what I was, before. A hypocrite. I'm not saying I want to be perfect… but I want to be better. Better than I was. A better person. So… I don't want to go back."

Softly, she finished, "But I do want to be your friend again."

_More than anything, I want to be your friend again._

And she saw him, standing there—her friend. The boy she trusted and admired, the boy who awed her, made her light up like a firework. Who cared about her, made her laugh. The boy who burned burned burned.

That boy sneered, and said, "That was touching, but… no dice. I guess I didn't make this clear before—we're _done_, Tachibana."

Because that boy… he could also be mean. Mean, and arrogant, and callous. Yet still—still, she wanted him to be her friend. His good qualities and bad, all of his different aspects and layers and depths… she wanted to accept them all. To understand these different parts, and love the whole.

That made his rejection hurt all the more.

* * *

Landshark! Also, how mad would you guys be if Akaya and Sayoko really did fall in love? (Edit: I did _not _think anyone would take this with even a degree of seriousness. XD)

Thanks for the reviews, especially you anonymous reviewers that I can't reply to. ^^

Disclaimer: I do not own _Prince of Tennis_, or Sleeperstar's "Texas Rain" (lyrics at the top).


	29. Break Through Wars You're Fighting Here

Author's Note: Just some general housekeeping things. First of all, this is the Sayoko-chapter. Next is when An starts to move forward.

In reply to **just saying**_, _and to those who've messaged me, I read the story in question. Though certain scenes and motifs make me uncomfortable, it's far from outright plagiarism, so I can't do anything. Thank you for your concern, though. ^_^

And to the unnamed reviewer, I will continue the Chicago!verse. I swear on my new Green River Ordinance album. Speaking of which. Everyone should Google "Green River Ordinance," and download their free singles (and then buy their album, "Under Fire"). Without GRO, this story never would have been written.

* * *

**250 Dark Stars**

_(In the madness_

_This world, it has created_

_Don't forget you're beautiful)_

…

"Happy birthday happy birthday happy _birthday_!"

An came running into the school and tackled Sayoko, nearly sending them both crashing to the floor. As it was, the other girl managed to remain upright and return the hug, looking embarrassed, but pleased. "Um, thanks…"

The chestnut-haired girl released her, fishing a box out of her bag, which she presented with flourish and a grin. "This is from me."

"Is it," said Sayoko dryly, and then: "You didn't have to get me anything." She seemed to be suppressing giggles. "And you certainly didn't have to go to such… extremes to wrap it." The wrapping paper was a shiny blue, but really, the box was more covered in scotch-tape than anything else.

"The wrapping paper was being difficult," explained An, rubbing the back of her neck. "As you can see, I showed it who's boss. Now _open _it, would you?"

Sayoko set down her unlatched bag, which was already half-full of candy and gift-cards and other items you got from people who didn't know you. People who were expecting things—tangible and intangible—in return. With another murmured "This wasn't necessary," she opened the box. Inside sat a red stuffed Tyrannosaurus Rex.

Her mouth formed an O, before breaking into an ecstatic smile. "It has a big head and little arms…!"

"Right?" An laughed.

Around the dinosaur's neck was wound a pair of green ear-buds—Sayoko was in perpetual need of new ones—and clutched in its clawed hand was a tube of coconut-flavored lip gloss. Sayoko's eyebrows rose. "You remembered…"

The shorter girl laughed again. "It's not the sort of story you forget." Days before, the mahogany-haired girl had come to school grumbling about how her cat had eaten her favorite lip gloss, vomited it up, and had to be taken to the vet. The vomit had, apparently, been sparkly, and smelled of coconut.

Sayoko made a face. "Unfortunately." Her voice softened. "Wimble was a birthday gift too, you know—from my brother, four years ago." She hugged the stuffed animal to her chest, and said, "Thank you, An. Really, thank you." Then she smiled, and it was just as brilliant as her dazzle-smile, except it actually—it actually had a degree of _warmth_.

An stared.

As she stood there in disoriented silence, she saw the other students in the hallway parting to let someone by. Yukimura walked up to the two girls, and Sayoko beamed at him. "Oniisan, look—it has a big head and little arms!" She held up the dinosaur.

"Indeed," murmured her brother, and for a moment, they just smiled at each other, and it was almost—it was almost too much to bear, really. That level of radiance. Like they were reflecting each other's happiness, and it got brighter and brighter each time it bounced back.

An allowed herself an instant of intense resentment of the two, with their stupid blue eyes and their stupid perfect smiles and their stupid stupidness. Then, she let it go.

Largely because Yukimura turned to her, and that stupidly perfect smile of his made her blood turn to liquid gold. _Thank you, _he mouthed, and she blinked, before nodding, her eyes curving into crescents as she smiled back.

Sayoko, meanwhile, was mumbling to herself. Or, rather, her dinosaur. "I shall name you Ty-Ty. No, wait. Napoleon. No. He Who Must Not Be Named."

"Sayoko," said her brother, with no small amount of amusement.

She didn't seem to notice. "But when he must be named, he shall be The Artist Formerly Known as Ty-Ty. No. The Artist Formerly Known as Napoleon. Actually—"

Yukimura touched his temple, his other arm folded over his chest. Still, he seemed more fond than exasperated. "Sayoko. Really. If you could spare me a moment of your attention."

She looked up, blinking. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Today after school," he began, "Sanada will escort you to Hyotei. I would have sent Renji, but I need him to finish compiling the data on the school we're playing next."

"… Oh," said Sayoko, fiddling with the ear-buds around her dinosaur's neck. "Oh. Sanada-senpai. Right. Cool. I just thought that you might—nevermind."

Both An and Yukimura frowned—only to realize, perhaps at the exact same moment, what Sayoko had "just thought." What she'd been hoping. That her brother, for one day, would forsake his duties as captain to take his little sister into Tokyo.

"Sayoko," he said, his eyebrows drawn together, "Sayoko, you know I can't—"

"I know," she said quickly, raising her hands, "I know. I'm sorry, it was stupid. Forget about it, really." When he kept looking at her with concern and dissatisfaction, she went on plaintively, "Please, don't feel bad. Please. I'm glad Sanada-senpai will be taking me. Seriously. We can window-shop together."

For the sake of both siblings, An cut in. "I know how to get to Hyotei. I can go with her." Too late, she remembered tennis practice; there was no way she could ask to skip, not having so recently gone down in flames in a match. No way. She wouldn't even feel comfortable asking to skip for a doctor's appointment. Not even if she were _dying of a gunshot-wound_.

… Well. Maybe then.

"That's very kind of you, Tachibana-kun, but don't trouble yourself," Yukimura murmured. "I'm sure you'll be needed at practice." He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, suddenly seeming drained, and Sayoko could not have looked more distressed.

"Oniisan, I'm serious. I _want _Sanada-senpai to come with me. On the way back we can stop at a café, and order scones, and talk about our feelings. Really, I feel good about this."

"Sayoko," he said firmly. She wasn't fooling anyone. And then, dropping his hands to his sides, he considered her for a long moment, before: "As much as it amuses me to picture you and Sanada sharing a bonding experience… I should be the one go to with you."

She stared at him, mouth working like that of a fish out of water. "… What? No, Oniisan, it's all right. You shouldn't miss tennis practice just because of me. You have to—"

He held up a hand, silencing her. "I've already decided," he said, which meant that was the way it would be. "To be honest, Sanada wasn't looking forward to encountering Atobe."

"But… but _tennis _practice…"

"Sanada can run it," said Yukimura calmly. "And I'd like to watch how Hyotei conducts their practices." When his sister still looked completely thrown, he smiled a little, and drew her into a one-armed hug. "Everything will be fine, Sayoko. Happy birthday."

"Thank you," she whispered.

After patting An's head affectionately, he turned and left. Sayoko watched him go, saying disbelievingly, "Tennis practice. He's _choosing_ to miss tennis practice."

"Well," An shrugged, "he gave his reasons. And he's leaving Sanada-senpai in charge, not, like, Marui-senpai. So he's right, everything will be okay. It's not a _huge _deal," she said, though she could tell by the other girl's expression that it was.

Really, it would be a weekday afternoon, not very dangerous at all—Sayoko could have gone alone, had she been to Hyotei before, and had her brother not been quite so protective. Yet still An wondered at one option not even being broached: that of Niou taking Sayoko. He'd proven himself invested in looking after her.

Then, she almost smacked her forehead. Of course. She'd heard about Niou's little display from the day before—_everyone_ had. Kissing Sayoko in public, even on the forehead, had set fire to rumors that had already been sparking up. Rumors that the two were dating behind Yukimura's back.

Rumors that must have reached Yukimura.

"Oniisan feels bad," said Sayoko listlessly, cradling her dinosaur in her arms. "For tennis being his priority, over me. That's why he's making an exception, this once. _God_," she said, "I _hate _making him feel bad. I didn't mean to make him feel guilty.

"But at the same time… I'm glad. That he does feel bad about it." Her eyelids lowered. "Why am I so awful…?" An went to protest, but Sayoko held up a hand, much the way her brother had. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't whine."

"It's your birthday, and you can whine if you want to," came a familiar drawl. Sayoko only hunched her shoulders when Niou came up behind her, and he reached over them to cup her face in his hands and draw her head back, so that she was looking at him upside-down. "You don't look any older."

She flushed and scowled, pulling away, but he didn't seem put out in the least. "How's my birthday girl doing?"

"Swell," she mumbled, and then: "Oniisan is taking me to Hyotei today."

His eyebrows rose fractionally. "Yeah? What'd you do to guilt-trip him?" When Sayoko all but flinched, he softened his voice. "Pretty good birthday present, then. Don't you think?"

She blinked. "… Yeah," she said, as the reality of the situation dawned on her, manifesting itself in a slow, thrilled smile. "Yeah," she said again, and then: "Oniisan's taking me to Hyotei. He's skipping tennis practice for me." Her voice brightened with each word.

"It's all very touching, isn't it," was his breezy response. He tilted his head. "Aren't you going to ask what _I _got you?"

Her fingertips grazed her lower lip. "… You didn't have to get me anything."

"Sweetie, you're too smart to keep pointing out the obvious." He lifted his chin in the direction of classroom 2-B. "Go check your desk."

She stared at him, then glanced at An, before leaving to do as bid. The chestnut-haired girl, up until that point, had been shifting uneasily—Niou's total lack of acknowledgement of her made her feel on edge. Even now that Sayoko had departed, the silver-haired boy only lounged against the lockers, his half-lidded gaze on nothing in particular.

Until it was on her. "Going to tell me off again?" he asked, his tone bored, derisive.

She hadn't even realized she'd been frowning at him. It was almost definitely in her best interest to simply walk away, but— "I don't understand," she said carefully. "I don't understand what… well, what your endgame is. Where Sayoko is concerned."

He smirked, but otherwise did not deign to respond, so it was probably good that the girl in question reappeared, trotting back over in a way that indicated she very much wished to run. "Niou-senpai," she said eagerly, "Niou-sen_pai_…!"

"Sayoko," he mocked, leaning toward her, "Sa-yo-ko…"

"I can't believe you—it must have been so—how did you even—_thank _you." She beamed up at him, her starlight-starbright eyes shining, shining. "Thank you so much, Niou-senpai." He said nothing, just half-smiled and touched her face. She grasped his hand with her own, holding it there.

—For all of two seconds, until she whirled to tell An, "He got me an encyclopedia set!"

"… Cool?"

"A five-volume set on the Napoleonic Wars. They were my _favorite wars_!"

An remembered this from when they'd done a project on them, but still—she'd never seen the other girl so genuinely, animatedly, _childishly _excited. "You're kind of a nerd," she giggled.

Sayoko did not blush or bluster or assume a haughty look. Instead she mumbled, mostly to herself, "I need to go find my wagon…!" And with that, she hurried away, either unaware of or unconcerned by the stares she was garnering. Surely it was the former; she was so invested in her image…

With a look of the utmost self-satisfaction, Niou unhitched himself from the lockers and strolled away. An watched until he disappeared from sight, her amusement dissipating as apprehension set in.

~x~

Sayoko did, in fact, find her wagon—one she'd commandeered from the horticulture club—and used it to transport her encyclopedia set to the library during lunch. Each volume was thick and heavy; apparently the set was exorbitantly expensive, and had to be specially ordered.

The text was in English, so she looked up words while An played Robot Unicorn Attack on the computer next to her, trying to cheer herself up. Kirihara was standing by his "we're done" avowal; during class, he'd only looked at her to sneer, and though she sensed his hostility was partly forced—it still _hurt_.

It hurt so badly.

She'd already apologized—what more could she do? To not be able to fix what was between them… it was inconceivable to her. What if… what if they really were done, for good?

_Stupid jerk, _she made herself grumble internally. _Stupid jerk with his stupid hair and stupid face and stupid eyes. I'm better off without him._

And in many ways, she was. But _damn _if she didn't miss the kid.

She collided with another crystal star, and quit the game, sinking down low in her chair. Maybe… now was the time to bring up something else that was bothering her. "Um… Sayoko?"

"Hmm?"

"Does it—okay. So I've learned that I shouldn't meddle, and—and don't take this the wrong way, okay?" she began, hands raised. "It's just… aren't you… kind of mad? That Niou-senpai has his… thing with you, but he still—um. Gets around."

The rumors about Niou dating Sayoko had started a heated debate throughout the school, for it was common knowledge that he didn't date. He had only ever messed around, and unless girls were lying for the sake of bragging rights, he still did.

The mahogany-haired girl went stiff, but did not turn away from her computer screen. Many long, tense moments passed, and it seemed she would not answer, before: "Kirihara… sort of brought up the same thing."

"What? Kirihara did?"

"We had sort of a… dispute the other day," Sayoko admitted, rubbing her wrist absently. "We both said—awful stuff. What he said, most of it hasn't really registered yet. But… anyway. I wouldn't say it makes me _mad_.

"Just… sick, and miserable. At the thought of it. And I don't really—think about it much. I've learned not to listen when people talk about it, and… and he never mentions it. I never _see _him with anyone. I used to, occasionally, but not anymore."

"… Like he's taking more care to hide it," An said, with extreme caution. "From you. Now that you two are—whatever you are."

"Well," said Sayoko, smiling grimly, "that's just it. We're not dating. And we're not friends, really. We're not _anything_. What he does with other girls… doesn't involve me. We're not dating," she said again, eyes downcast.

"Do you… _want _to date him?"

Sayoko took her dinosaur from her bag, hugging it to her chest. "I," she said. "I… don't know. I mean, I _do_, but at the same time—for God's sake, I can't handle a _relationship_. I can barely handle functioning on a basic human level. But… I want to be with him. So—just _so _much.

"That's why I let him—mess with me, the way he does. I mean, not really _let _him, it's just—… I don't have the strength to make him stop. The willpower, or the—the self-control. It's not right, but—I just want him to want me," she whispered.

An suspected he already did. But whatever desire he showed for the mahogany-haired girl, whatever affection, it _paled _in comparison to the strength and depth of Sayoko's feelings for him. It was—it was a fierce adoration, blind and reckless. So strong as to maybe not be adoration at all, but—

"Sayoko, do you… love Niou-senpai?"

She froze. "Do I… love… him?" The words came out halting and uneven, as if she were reading a foreign language off a page. As if she couldn't even fathom the idea. "Um," she said. "Um. I—

"I don't… know. I… care about him a lot. And I'm attracted to him. But… if I'm honest with myself, I think… that my feelings for him… they stem from gratitude. For caring about _me_, and looking out for me. If he hadn't done that…" Her eyelids lowered. "Would I have picked him out from the rest of Oniisan's teammates? Or from any other boy, really.

"But… he did. And my feelings just…" She gestured feebly with her hands. "They got bigger, and stronger, and—I do, I think. Love him. This feeling… I'm not sure what else to call it. This feeling…" Her voice got softer. "I guess it's love.

"Except… I don't think I'm _in _love with him. I think that takes more—more time, and—I don't know. I just don't think I am, yet." She drew a breath. "So I—love him. Platonically, I guess. As a person. As my Niou-senpai. And romantically…" She laughed unhappily. "I think that's still just a stupid crush."

An bit down hard on her lip. Reflecting on this was obviously causing the other girl a great deal of pain. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "For bringing it up."

"No," said Sayoko, with a sort of calm, weary resignation, "no, I—I need to stop ignoring this. I don't know what I'm doing, or what _to _do. Your relationship with Kirihara, I know it didn't… end well, but—you were brave enough to _start _it. To do something.

"I'm… too scared. To walk up to Niou-senpai and say I want to date him. Because—I'm not sure I do, but—regardless. I'm _terrified_. But I still… don't stop him. When he toys with me. I don't really protest.

"So I'm just… stuck."

Sayoko had been so happy just hours before; An felt terrible for having ruined her good mood. "Just so you know…I meant what I said before. You really are one of the bravest people I know." To have put up with everything that she had, and still keep trying.

The mahogany-haired girl smiled faintly. "If that's true, you need to get out more." And An might have misheard, but she thought the other girl whispered to herself, "Something's got to give…"

~x~

Mukahi raised his eyebrows, and said, "_Damn._"

"You have a girlfriend," Shishido reminded him, balancing his racquet on the tip of one finger.

"I _know _that," the redhead scowled, "I'm just _saying_."

Atobe put a hand up to his face, silent. Mukahi's appreciation was not unwarranted; Yukimura Sayoko was outstandingly beautiful, which was far more apparent than it had been at the clinic, where she'd walked around with her head down, looking exhausted and despondent.

Now, her hair was tossed back as she walked toward Hyotei's practice courts, her brother beside her. "Atobe," the latter greeted once close enough. "I hope you're doing well."

Atobe inclined his head slightly. "I am."

Sayoko spoke up. "Thank you for agreeing to meet with me." Her voice was fluid, lilting, but her smile fixed in place. There was no trace of the girl who'd mumbled to herself about spoons.

_Where did you go? _he wondered, not trying as hard as he could have to suppress his amusement. "Of course." He stood under the awning of the clubhouse. Kabaji was, as ever, at his side, and so were most of the regulars—a visit from the Child of God was a momentous occasion.

"It's good to see you, Yukimura," Oshitari cut in, before turning to Sayoko. "And hello to you," he added smoothly. "My name is Oshitari Yuushi. It's a pleasure to meet you, Yukimura-chan."

"Likewise, Oshitari-san." She smiled brightly, but not so bright as to indicate any interest in him. Her brother did not exactly seem annoyed, but even less did he seem amused, and Oshitari, in a have-it-your-way manner, took a half-step back, arms clasped behind him.

"I'm surprised that you came yourself, Yukimura." Atobe adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves. "Does Sanada really have the people-skills necessary to manage the team in your absence?" He'd taken over while Yukimura was in the hospital, of course, but Atobe did not want to give up a chance to slight the dour, hazel-eyed youth.

"Perhaps not the people-skills," the other boy allowed, smiling in a way that Atobe couldn't pin down, "but as a disciplinarian, his credentials are quite good." His smile grew a fraction wider. "Though I do appreciate your concern."

Atobe smirked.

"Excuse my interruption," muttered a voice. Wakashi stepped forward, looking intently at the boy wearing Rikkai's school uniform. "Yukimura-san, while you're here, would you play a set with me?"

The older boy straightened the tennis bag over his shoulder as interest sparked faintly in his eyes. "As long as your captain doesn't mind."

Wakashi would sulk if Atobe said no, and playing against such a strong opponent would do him good. That was, of course, as long as Yukimura didn't use the yips—but surely he wouldn't. He wouldn't have to, not to beat Wakashi, and the Child of God was not cruel.

Not needlessly so.

"I see no reason why not." Reminded of the purpose of the visit, Atobe turned to Sayoko, and said grandly, "If you'll step into the clubhouse, we can discuss your proposal." He held the door open for her, and with a single look back at her brother, she entered. Atobe glanced at him as well, and, seeing no disapproval on his face, followed.

He sat down at his huge, gleaming oak desk, and she took a seat across from him, hands folded in her lap. Her fingernails, he noticed, were chewed down to stubs—a low-class habit that clashed with her otherwise urbane appearance. "Yukimura-kun," he said, and leaned back in his chair. "Explain to me why I should consent to an exhibition match with Rikkai."

"Explain to me why you shouldn't."

_That _he had not been expecting. She'd said it pleasantly, her expression neutral, posture relaxed. Like this, her resemblance to her brother was even stronger; did she share his composure, his confidence?

"It would take up practice time," he pointed out. "Moreover, it would take up _my _time, the value of which goes without saying." Her demeanor didn't change, but he could tell his self-importance had hit a nerve. Smirking, he went on, "In addition, it would give rival teams, especially your brother's, a look at our strategies and techniques."

"With a team as good as yours, do you really have to worry about that?" She shrugged. "And you know as well as I do that neither team will be expected to go anything close to all-out. The purpose of an exhibition match is implicit in the name. It's meant to put on a show."

She said, so innocently as to be mocking, "And from what I've heard, and the little I've seen, that seems to be something of a hobby of yours. Wouldn't you say, Atobe-san?"

His smirk grew wider, but he only said, "You haven't addressed the matter of time."

She made a dismissive gesture. "Playing against a strong team, even lightly, in an excellent way to practice. As for _your _time in particular, I can't promise that it will be enjoyable for you, but I would think it would be." She smiled. "Now should we work out the logistics, or do you still want to be contrary?"

"Playing devil's advocate is one way to enliven an otherwise tedious day, I've found." When she just looked at him, he exhaled in a dramatic, if elegant, way. "Yes, all right. Let's set a date."

It didn't take long at all to settle on a day that worked for both parties, and agreeing on a time was equally painless. "If it's acceptable to you," said Sayoko, "I thought that we would split the funds made sixty-forty."

"With the larger sum of money going to Rikkai, for the added expense of hosting the event?" When she indicated yes, he nodded as well. "That's fine." He put a hand up to his face, and considered her. At length he said, "You're quite like your brother."

Her shoulders tensed, her mouth tightened. "In ways."

_Interesting. _"And in other ways…?"

"In other ways, not as much." She began placing her papers back in her bag, standing to leave.

Atobe did not move. How far did he have to push her until her mask of equanimity broke? He looked at her as a sculptor would a block of marble—chisel here, chisel there, uncover the art beneath. "It must be difficult," he said lightly. "To be compared to him."

She didn't look up. "We all have our crosses to bear."

"But yours is a bit heavier than most," he needled. "Isn't it?"

She raised her head. A flush was working its way up her neck, into her cheeks. "That's not really any of your concern, is it?" she snapped. And then: "I'm sorry."

He waved away her insincere apology. "I'm sure it's a sensitive subject." Which was why he'd brought it up. "I have a lot of respect for your brother."

"Of course. He deserves it."

"Of course," he echoed, lips twitching. Sayoko had, apparently, placed her brother on a pedestal, which was reasonable. It was not, however, practical. Atobe knew from experience that the higher up you held something, the more pieces it broke into when it fell, and the more likely you were to get cut.

But she was right. It really wasn't any of his concern. Still, he felt some pity for the girl. "He is incredible," he said, allowing a touch of gentleness to color his voice. "Your brother. And you are like him."

She regarded him for a long moment, clearly trying to determine the sincerity of his words. When she found that he meant it, she said quietly, "Thank you."

Her smile was soft and shy, really quite lovely, and he could not help but return it.

* * *

Despite his showy behavior, I feel Atobe's mind is a quiet, calm place.

Disclaimer: I do not own _Prince of Tennis_, or Green River Ordinance's "Lost in the World" (lyrics at the top).


	30. Now We've Made Our Last Mistake

**250 Dark Stars**

_(Showed my cards, gave you my heart_

_Wish we could start all over_

_Nothing's making sense at all)_

…

An took a breath, and called out, "Can we talk?"

Kirihara seemed about to respond scathingly, but Rui cut him off. "I'll just go on ahead." With a shove to Kirihara's shoulder, and a sympathetic look at An, he stepped through the school gates.

The black-haired boy watched his friend leave, looking faintly annoyed, before shoving his hands in his pockets. Behind him, the sun rose higher. "What do you want, Tachibana? Going to beg for forgiveness again?"

"No," she said, and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "No, actually, I'm not. I just—" She pressed her lips together, peered at him from across the good ten feet separating them. "What do you want from me? Obviously not another apology."

"I want you to leave me the hell alone."

"I don't think that's true," she said evenly, though her heart gave a painful lurch. "If it was, wouldn't you ignore me as well, instead of going out of your way to be an ass? I mean, you're acting like a child."

"Learned from the best," he sneered.

She smiled tightly. "Maybe. But… still. You need to grow up. I'm at least _trying _to. So… so really. Kirihara. What do you want?"

He just glowered. An had always thought of green as a cold color, but now she would forever associate it with the wild dark heat of his eyes.

"You don't know, do you." Despite herself she felt a tenderness for him, sweet and aching, the last note of a song fading, fading. "Well… _I _want you to forgive me. I want to be your friend again. I miss you."

"Tell it to someone who cares," he said half-heartedly, though not without resentment.

She paused, and considered him, her head tilted to the side and her hands clasped behind her back. "Is this making you happy?" She spoke slowly. "Being mad at me. Hating me. Does it make you feel better?"

She asked, "Are you happy?"

He looked temporarily thrown, before his posture changed, became a peculiar blend of defense and offense, shoulders squared and feet spread and hips angled— "Are _you_?"

She smiled a little. She smiled, and shook her head.

She left him there.

~x~

The day before, An had, at Shimizu's behest, done drills with Fujimaru Imari, the only other second-year starter. That afternoon, she joined a couple other regulars to play Queen of the Court. One person began as Queen, with everyone else on the opposite side of the court. Each challenger would play a point against the Queen.

If she won, and then took a second point, she took the throne.

An really, _really _wanted to be Queen.

Unfortunately, neither she nor the other two girls had yet managed to dethrone Takamiya Miaka, Fuyumi's Doubles One partner. There were no holes in the auburn-haired girl's game; she covered the court with ease that spoke of having had to defend the wider doubles court.

The captain and vice-captain could beat her, but An and the others were having a tough time of it. Had their lineup been standard, Fuyumi would have played Singles One, with Shimizu in Two, and Takamiya rounding it out in Singles Three. It would have been a complete lockout—not exactly the Three Demons of the boys' team, but close.

Luckily for An and all other aspiring singles players, this was not the case, though it wasn't much comfort as another of Takamiya's shots sliced past her, too low and sharp to return. Damn it damn it _damn _it. She'd won the first point, and had just needed _one more_.

Perhaps she could suggest best two out of three?

"Not bad," said Takamiya from across the court. Her voice was sweet and strong, her face heart-shaped. "Make sure to step into your backhands, though."

An took a few practice swings, nodded, and got out of the way as Watanabe Chouko tossed a ball into the air—challengers always got to serve to the Queen. Watanabe usually got slotted for Doubles Two. She had inky eyes and long black hair cut straight across her forehead like a priestess, but her serene appearance belied her hot temper.

As proved when she swore viciously under her breath, having just been on the receiving end of a return-ace.

She was still muttering when she got back in line behind An. At one time the chestnut-haired girl might have been somewhat unnerved by a sharp-mannered upperclassman, but if she could build up a slight immunity to Sayoko's freezing stares, she could face down anything.

Except perhaps a charging moose. In that case, she would climb a tree. Or yodel. She felt as if yodeling was a good strategy in any situation.

But through a combination of luck, determination, and, An suspected, Takamiya having simply grown _bored _of being Queen, Watanabe won two straight points and took the title. Takamiya accepted the defeat with class, and to An's surprise, the black-haired girl was equally gracious; she did not smirk or brag. Instead, the small victory seemed to calm her.

Katsuragi Mikuzu, the other girl playing, took one point off Watanabe but couldn't manage a second, and didn't seem to care overly much. Yet An, when her turn rolled around, could hardly contain her excitement. She had a greater chance of beating Watanabe than she did of Takamiya.

She served down the T. The dark-eyed girl had clearly expected her to serve wide, but managed a strong return despite being caught wrong-footed. From watching her matches, An knew that her greatest skill was changing the pace of the rally. The trick, she figured, was to _end _it before the other girl had a chance to do so.

That thought in mind, she hit the very best forehand she could, and followed it in to the net, putting away Watanabe's return with a neat backhand volley. She won the point, and took the next with an ace.

Which meant she was Queen.

An beamed, and jumped around in a circle. She was Queen, and hadn't even had to be a princess first. It was like she'd passed Go and collected two hundred dollars, as well as a crown and an army and a palace and a chef that would cook for her at absurd hours of the night.

"I can have quesadillas and flan!" she crowed. "At _two a.m._!"

No one seemed to follow this thought process, which made her wish that Sayoko had been there. Still, her mood was quite good as she trotted over to the opposite side of the court, even when Watanabe shot her a dirty look.

Queens could not be bothered by the trifling sentiments of commoners.

"All right, Tachibana," giggled Takamiya, "let's behave with the dignity of royalty, shall we? Mikuzu, you're up."

An took an easy point from Katsuragi, which cemented her conviction to challenge the older girl for the Singles Two spot. This time, she would beat her, then work her way up to Singles One, then Zero, and then all the way to Negative Seventeen. That was probably as good a place as any to stop.

No matter what, she _would _beat her, and Shimizu, and even Fuyumi and Takamiya, though they weren't singles players. An would make sure there was no doubt in anyone's mind that she was the best.

Was this how Kirihara felt when faced with the Three Demons? Sure, he'd already beaten Yanagi, but… did he still feel this blend of exhilaration and anxiety, desperation? This overwhelming need to win?

She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. Despite what she'd said to Shimizu, she didn't think winning was the be-all and end-all of tennis. For her, it was about—_proving _herself. Proving that she was good, that she wasn't just Tachibana Kippei's little sister. That she belonged on a court.

She wasn't _born _to play tennis, not like Yukimura. But… the height of the net, the white lines, the rules of the game—these things were exactly the same, no matter what, no matter where you were. She _knew _them, knew them like the back of her hand.

Miles and miles away from her family, the tennis court felt like home.

Katsuragi's voice broke her out of these wistful musings. "So," she said, swinging her racquet idly, "you're friends with Yukimura's younger sister, aren't you? Is it true she's dating Niou Masaharu?"

The older girl was, apparently, already over her one-point loss. "Um," said An, "yes." And then: "I mean, no! I meant yes to being her friend, but no to the whole dating thing. I mean, mostly."

Over her light green eyes, Katsuragi's eyebrows rose. "Mostly?"

An noticed some non-regulars on the adjacent court listening in. "It's… complicated. Why do you care? Senpai," she added hastily.

"Oh," said the brown-haired girl, and laughed a little, making the V-sign with her fingers. "Just curious. I confessed to Niou a year ago, and he shot me down completely. Shit happens, I guess."

"And so you want to know what kind of girl he _would _go for," Watanabe finished, arms crossed. "Now that we've cleared that up, could we get on with the game, please?"

"Sure, sure," Takamiya appeased, stepping up to the baseline. "Watch out, Mikuzu."

Katsuragi shrugged and got out of the way, going to the back of the line. Beyond being determined to crush her, An hadn't completely formed an opinion on her, but—it was surprising, that she could confess so blithely to getting rejected.

If she didn't take that seriously, and didn't seem to take tennis particularly seriously… what _did _she care about?

"Tachibana-kun."

She turned to find Yukimura standing outside the court. "Yukimura-senpai!" she chirped, and skipped over to him. "Why are you here? Trying to draw recruits over to the boys' team? I'm up for it, but only if you provide a better dental package."

"I'll see if we can work something out," he said, his words and tone equally light, and his face broken up into diamond-patterns by the chain-link fence. "I actually wanted to speak with Fuyumi, but she doesn't seem to be here."

"Um…" An craned her neck, but couldn't spot the tall brunette. "She might be in the clubhouse. I can go check, if you want."

"I can ask someone else to do it; I wouldn't want to further interrupt your game."

"Oh, no big deal," she said, turning back to the court, "we're playing Queen of the Court, and I'm the—" She blinked. Watanabe was already on the Queen's side, playing a point against Takamiya. "_Damn it._"

"It would seem there's been a coup d'état," murmured Yukimura, partially covering his mouth with one hand. "My apologies."

She sighed, and waved it away. "Easy come, easy go. Being Queen was overrated, anyway—all that time knighting people, and posing for stamps… not worth it." She paused. "Not that I won't _ruthlessly seize control _upon my return, of course."

"Of course." His laughter was as bright as his sister's, with the same rich, ringing cadence. Leaving her racquet propped up against the fence, An opened the gate and stepped out, falling in beside him as they walked to the clubhouse.

"So, senpai, what do you need to talk to Fuyumi-buchou about?"

"More matches between her team and mine," he replied, his voice quite like the breeze that stirred his hair. "The regulars are getting bored and agitated, playing each other again and again. If it keeps up, I may face a coup myself."

"You can take 'em," she assured him automatically. There was no doubt in her mind, and she had to wonder, looking at him… How could such a person exist? Someone so attractive and charismatic, talented in so many areas.

How could he be as perfect as he presented himself to be?

He probably wasn't. He _couldn't _be. He must have had insecurities and flaws, doubts and weaknesses. He had to have a breaking-point. Sayoko, she remembered, had seemed too good to be true, and her lovely smile concealed more personal struggle than one body should have been able to contain.

Surely Yukimura didn't have as many inner demons as his sister; his strength was undeniable, and his self-confidence palpable. The question was, would he ever let An see the things that made him human, whatever they were?

Because she knew that she would not find them herself. It all came down to whether he would show them to her.

Judging by his smile, he'd spoken to her while she'd been thinking. "Uh, sorry, what?"

"… Don't worry about it." He said it fondly, but with an element of finality, and she figured it wasn't worth pressing for. They'd arrived at the clubhouse, anyway, and with a wait-just-a-moment gesture to him, she slipped inside, and stuck her head into the office area.

"Fuyumi-buchou? Yukimura-senpai is outside, and he wants to talk to you."

The older girl looked up, rubbing her face, and stood. "Oh, thank God. Please let it be something more interesting than paperwork."

"I do believe a unicorn is involved," An volunteered promptly. "Don't quote me on that, though."

The older girl smiled a little, and followed her out into the sunshine, where she exchanged greetings with her fellow captain. "Thank you, Tachibana-kun," said Yukimura afterwards. "I'm sure you should go back and reclaim your throne, now."

"Will do. Remember what I said about dental insurance."

"I will." He touched the side of her head, and she closed her eyes for just a moment, relishing the quiet show of affection, the ease that washed over her when with him, before opening them and jogging back to the court, arriving just in time to see Takamiya strip the title of Queen from Katsuragi.

"Pretty chummy with Yukimura Seiichi, aren't you," noted the latter, taking her place back in line. Her tone was a bit sly, but not accusatory—not the way a lot of girls got, when it came to the matter.

"Well," said An, straightening her ponytail, "well—yeah. He…" She blinked, frowned for a moment, and continued slowly, uncertainly, "I think… I think that he's beginning to fill a place someone else has left."

She couldn't see Takamiya's reaction, but Katsuragi and Watanabe exchanged a glance, probably assuming that she was talking about Kirihara.

She let them think that.

But when practice ended, instead of going home, she got out her phone, and went and sat on a hill, knees drawn up to her chest. Her brother answered on the first ring. "_Hello?_"

"Oniichan," she smiled. "Is this a good time?"

"_Yeah—I'm in my hotel room. What's up?_"

"Nothing. Just wanted to talk." So she did. She told him about playing Queen of the Court and having to deal with peasants and uprising and peasant uprisings. She told him that she still had the highest grade in her math class, and that a classmate had asked her out that day during lunch, and—completely thrown—she'd said no.

Well, actually, she'd said "What?" And then his words had registered, and she'd said "Oh," and then "Um, uh, well, it's just that I—no. Sorry, man."

After which she had run away.

But these were not details worth racking up long-distance phone bills for.

Finally she said, "I miss you. I wish you would come home."

"_My coach thinks we'll be able to make a stop in Japan after the Proton Malaysian Open. You can come back to Tokyo, and we can all spend the weekend together._"

"Yeah," she said, as the sun began to set. "Yeah, I'd like that."

~x~

"Niou-senpai, can you take a walk with me?"

It was Sunday, and Sayoko was gathered with her brother's team at their tournament ground meeting place; they'd just registered, and had time to kill. When Niou raised his eyebrows, she said lightly, "I want to look for bunnies in the underbrush, and you have better eyesight."

Her brother, standing nearby with Yanagi and Sanada, overheard this, and pressed his lips together, but did not interfere. _Don't worry, _she wanted to tell him. _It's not what you think._

"Fine," said Niou at length, straightening. He'd been leaning against a picnic table, mocking the mystery novel that Yagyuu was reading, though the brown-haired boy had ignored his taunts with an ease that Sayoko envied. "But I'm not actually chasing the damn things."

"You know you want to," Kirihara piped in. As teasing went, it was innocent enough, but he got a very narrow look in return. His relationship with Niou had not recovered from the day he'd hurt Sayoko.

Which, she would admit, pleased her a great deal.

And so she led the silver-haired boy onto one of the paths. She wore a white blouse, high-heeled boots, and a sleeveless pinstripe dress. The fabric was dove-gray, and the boots black; her eyes were color enough.

"So what is it really?" Niou asked, once they'd walked in silence for a while. "Your wrist? Should be pretty much healed by now."

"It is." Still, she'd played it safe by keeping her sleeves buttoned all the way down, despite the increasingly warm weather. Her greatest fear was that someone would notice this, and think she was trying to hide scars on her wrists.

Sans nuclear winter and an even more extreme inferiority-complex, that was probably the _last _thing she needed.

"Then what?" The trees allowed for only stripes of sunlight to come through, making his face a study in light and shadow. His eyebrows drew together. "Has someone been—"

"No," she said quickly. "No, I'm all right. It's just—" She ducked her head, only to have him step closer and place a finger under her chin.

"I don't have the patience to play this game with you." He fixed her with a level look, before drawing his hand away to run it through his hair, which he needed to cut; it was almost long enough to tie back, the way he had in junior high. "Sweetie, just tell me. It can't be a big deal." Meaning it couldn't be _important_.

_But it is_, she thought, and moved closer to him, so close that their chests and hips brushed. _It is. _She reached up, and was distantly surprised when he allowed her to trace his face, to trail her fingertips over the planes of his cheeks. To touch his lower lip.

Niou held very still. He said nothing, just looked down at her, and she felt his amusement as if it were her own, as well as his interest. For once, he couldn't anticipate what she would do next. Because… he didn't think she had the guts to do what they both knew she wanted to do. He didn't think she was brave enough.

And—and she was scared to _death_.

But… he'd always still cared for her, no matter how badly she'd screwed up. She thought of the way he'd looked at her in the clubhouse. Like she was precious to him. _I have to believe he'll still feel that way, even if I do this._

_Please. Please, Niou-senpai, just let me make one more mistake._

So she took her courage in both hands. She took her courage in both hands, and closed her eyes, and kissed him full on the mouth.

He tasted like December.

Until he caught at her wrists, pulled away. "Sayoko," he said, staring at her, "Sayoko, sweetheart, that's not—"

But the floodgates of wanting had already opened, and she kissed him again, harder this time, urgently, pressing up against him. All of a sudden, she needed the feel of him, his heat, his taste, a need that was vast and frightening, bruise-blue and burning, reaching, reaching, reaching.

She needed him to kiss her back.

And—and maybe he lost control too, because his arm went around her waist, solid and too-tight, a good-hurt, and his other hand entangled itself in her hair. As his mouth slanted over hers, hot and seeking, he backed her up; she cooperated, her faith in him blind and absolute, and found herself pushed up against a tree.

She took the opportunity to slip her hands under his jersey, run them over his shoulders, his stomach, greedy to know the geography of his body, the scars and muscles, the dips and ridges. He moved away from her mouth, trailed kisses along her jaw. It felt so damn _good_, and she shifted restlessly, making a quiet keening sound.

Only when he began to work his way down her throat, kissing and nipping in turn, did it become a sound of protest, and he drew back instantly, put more than five feet between them. Embarrassingly enough, she had to prop herself up against the tree, her knees had gone so weak.

Really, she was trembling all over, hair wild and breath erratic. She was pleased to see he was breathing unevenly as well, though his expression was entirely closed-off. _No, _she thought desperately. _No, don't hide._

That wasn't fair, not when her emotions were so plain.

She brought an unsteady hand to her lips. "Niou-… Niou-senpai…"

He only shook his head once, slowly. _We can't do this._

She swallowed hard as sweat broke out on her palms. "I know. I know. That was—" _a goodbye kiss_. She kicked at the ground, tried to fight off what was surely an impending heart-attack. "It's just… it's just that…"

_Just say it. Just _say _it. _

Words had always hurt her, much more than they should have, especially when they came from certain people, like her brother. Like Niou. Words could _break _her, and certainly had in the past. But—she thought that maybe they could heal, too.

"_You're one of the bravest people I know," _An had said.

Maybe they could heal her, just a little bit. Just by saying them. And maybe they would even mean something to Niou.

She stood up straight, and met his eyes. She said, "I love you. Did you know that?"

She laughed. "Who am I kidding? Of course you did. Probably even before me. But… I'm stuck. I keep saying… that I'm going to change. But—but whenever something goes wrong, I still go running back to you. And you—you _let _me. Every time. And I want to thank you for that.

"But… it can't… it can't keep _happening_. This—" she gestured between them, "it's not _working_. I need… to not… _need _you. At least… not as much as I do. Because—I need you _so much_. And it's not… it's no good.

"Especially when you don't even—you don't need _anyone_, and certainly not me." At the look on his face, her voice softened. "Or, at least… I don't know who you need, or what you need. I just don't know. I don't know that, or what—or what _we _are. And it's… it's something I can't overlook any longer.

"So… so please. Please understand."

Understand that she was done with the flirting, the mind games, the push-and-pull. Done with the caresses, done with being his toy. But she didn't want to be done with _him_. She would still want him, still need him, still love him; she couldn't change that, and didn't want to.

But for once in her life, she wanted to stand by herself, and to do so, she'd had to stand up to him.

Where exactly this left them, she wasn't sure. She'd ended their old relationship, sealed it with a kiss—one that she would have to pretend was enough—and now stood waiting for his response.

He was just—he was just _watching _her with those pale eyes, perhaps the strangest, prettiest things she'd ever seen. She had his full attention, could practically see his mind working, though what conclusion it would arrive at, she had no idea.

What if he laughed at her? What if he sneered or scoffed, called her silly or stupid, made some patronizing remark? Worse, what if he stalked away without a word?

"Shh," he said, as if he could hear her worries, and moved toward her. He did not touch her, did not hold her or stroke her hair. Instead he stood before her, close enough for her to feel the phantom-warmth of him, and said again, "Shh, Sayoko."

She gazed up at him, and—and indeed her racing mind quieted, the anxieties clearing away, making room for a single conviction:

_I love you._

* * *

Thanks to **livinglifeasitis**, who consistently leaves reviews that push the 8000-character limit. You're the best. Also thanks to Kasey, for drawing a fanart of Sayoko! And finally thanks to all the reviewers. I write for you~

Disclaimer: I do not own _Prince of Tennis_, or All Time Low's "Painting Flowers" (lyrics at the top).


	31. Letting Go of All I've Held Onto

Author's Note: Dear **TooLazyToMakeAnAccount**, thank you for basically reviewing everything I've ever written ever. It's super cool of you. If you could work up the energy to make an account, though, I could reply. ^_^ Same goes for other anonymous reviewers! I wish I could talk to you guys - I don't like writing individual replies within the story itself...

* * *

**250 Dark Stars**

_(Tired and bored of keeping score_

_Who's wrong, who's right_

_Don't care no more)_

…

Both of Rikkai's teams won that day, meaning they would progress to the Kantou Tournament. Once the awards ceremony had concluded, the boys, the girls, and what was probably four-sevenths of their school's entire student body migrated to the concessions area, taking over every inch of space, and, Marui imagined, a fair amount of hyperspace.

He had, by virtue of being a regular, been delegated one of the few tables, and from this vantage point surveyed the scene before him with bright violet eyes. At a table nearby, Sanada and Fuyumi spoke in what were probably quiet, measured tones, which, as such, were inaudible over the pop music thrumming from someone's iPod dock.

Yagyuu, on a pleasantly shaded bench, was the picture of composure, one leg crossed over the other as he read a book. Niou was nowhere to be seen, and Yanagi drifted, listening and watching as he always did, periodically returning to where Yukimura held court.

The slim blue-haired boy, smiling vaguely, sat with his chin cupped in one hand. Around him were arranged a privileged few (one of the girl regulars, Watanabe, among them), and it was as if his table were raised on a dais; the atmosphere was exclusive, exalted.

Shimizu, from her seat beside Marui, followed his gaze. "Must be exhausting," she noted. "Being Yukimura, I mean. Looks like a full-time job."

"One he wouldn't trade for anything in the world, I'd bet." Still, Yukimura seemed neither pleased nor displeased by the casual celebration held in his team's honor. It hadn't been his idea, but he was there, and he was Yukimura, and therefore he was in charge of it.

The blond girl took a bite of pastry, and said, while chewing, "What d'you think he'd get promoted to? If he did want to trade it. I mean, can you get higher than being," here she affected deep, reverential tones, "Yukimura Seiichi, the Child of God?"

"… Yukimura Seiichi, God's Chairman of Tennis and Being-Holier-Than-Thou?"

"Fair enough," she conceded after a thoughtful pause, wiping chocolate from her lip. She was not-pretty in a pretty way, Shimizu was. "Still, as high school careers go, he's basically been there, done that, and written a manifesto on being there and doing that. I feel like he should chill out and stop making the rest of us look lame."

Marui leaned back in his chair. "For your information, I look rakishly handsome, with a dash of boyish charm. But if you're up to it, you can go and tell him that your—hey. You _still _pissed off?"

This last part was addressed to Niou, passing by with a flat expression and a fuck-off vibe. When his query got no response, the redhead tacked on, "Sayoko-chan's upset." _That _gave the pale-haired boy pause, and Marui snorted. "Why do I feel like you'd react more strongly to that than to 'Dear God, my spleen is on fire, somebody help me'?"

"Perhaps because you're the only person on this planet whose sheer idiocy would be fuel enough to make his spleen spontaneously ignite," came Niou's biting, if indolent, reply. And then, looking around: "Is she really?"

"What, Sayoko-chan upset? Nah. Just wanted to get your attention." Marui ran a hand through his hair, aware that Shimizu was observing their exchange with dry amusement. "But dude, you've been in a bad mood practically all day. It's getting old."

"We can't all have boyish charm." On that deadpanned note, Niou continued on his way. Marui grabbed a pastry and considered throwing it at his head, but couldn't condone such a waste, and bit into it instead.

"That was friendly," Shimizu remarked. "What team-bonding activities do you guys do? They seem to be working well."

"That wasn't even the worst of it." Marui nodded toward a table farther to the right, where Kirihara sat alone, with his head on his folded arms. "The brat's been sulking ever since he got dumped."

They looked at each other, and then to the open space where Tachibana An had drawn a hopscotch court in blue chalk that she'd gotten from God-only-knew-where. The elementary school game had actually drawn a number of players, and the chestnut-haired girl herself seemed to be having a great deal of fun.

If she was troubled by her breakup with Kirihara, it didn't show.

"Hah," Shimizu grinned, toying with the silver cross around her neck, "my kid's moved on, and yours hasn't. Mine's more mature. Come at me, bro."

"Like _that _means anything. I've met three-year-olds more mature than Akaya."

"So you admit I did a better job raising mine."

Marui smiled a little, and watched Jackal approach Kirihara, probably trying, in his patient Jackal-way, to coax the younger boy into better spirits. But not even Jackal had the endurance necessary to weather Kirihara's foul temper, and eventually he gave up.

"Still," it occurred to him, eyeing the girls that were eyeing his underclassman, "it could be worse. I mean, he hasn't tried to make her jealous, and he has plenty of opportunities. So that's something, right? Maturity-wise."

When she only looked at him, he sighed, and stood up, pushing his chair back with a scrape. "Fine, fine. Senpai-giving-life-lessons-to-a-kouhai powers, activate."

As he walked off, Shimizu called after him, "Show 'im how we _do_."

"Hey," he said to Kirihara, upon reaching him, "you and me, let's go somewhere and talk."

"Flattered, senpai, really I am, but I'm going to have to reject your advances. I don't swing that way."

"Cute," Marui scoffed, and grabbed a fistful of curly hair, "but I _invented _that, kiddo. Get your ass up."

"Let _go_," Kirihara bit out, though he did stand, a mutinous scowl on his face. Marui, releasing him, took a moment to consider that the younger boy was taller, and most likely stronger than him. But—it was _Kirihara_, for God's sake. He would always be "the kid."

"Come on, then. Unless you want me to give you this lecture in front of people." He began weaving his way through the tables and throngs of people, with the black-haired boy following at a grudging distance.

Once they were out of earshot of the lively group of teenagers, Marui folded his arms over his chest, and leaned against one of the floodlights. "Unfortunately, there doesn't seem to be a sofa around for you to lie on. I'm afraid you'll have to discuss your feelings while standing upright."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"_You. _You're acting like a spoiled, petulant child. Get your shit together, Akaya, and just grow up already."

"If I'm going to be treated like a child no matter what I do, I might as well act like one." Kirihara narrowed those catlike eyes of his. "Wouldn't you say, _senpai_?"

"That's not—" Marui began, only to break off as the other boy's point hit home. Really, he'd reflected on it only a minute before: that no matter what he did or how he behaved, Kirihara would be the brat, the kid, the baby of the team, and would be treated as such.

He was, by nature, self-absorbed and impudent, but… how much of his immaturity was due to it being _expected _of him? A year ago, when he'd rejoined them in high school, he'd actually started out more self-possessed, more levelheaded. Captainship had changed him. But as the months had passed, he'd reverted back to being cheeky and self-indulgent.

Because Marui and the others had treated him like that?

He thought of Sayoko—gorgeous, intelligent Sayoko, who had every reason to be confident. Sayoko, who, faced with the insurmountable wall that was her brother, acted like there was no point in trying to live up to his standards, or even to her own potential.

And he realized: _People are what we make them._

"… There's some truth to that," he admitted slowly, and, judging by Kirihara's expression, much to the other boy's surprise. "But—Akaya. You're just hurting yourself, you know? Regardless of the rest of us… Tachibana-kun, she's the real deal. You shouldn't let her get away.

"Because I think…" He made a face. "I think—Hell, I don't know." _It's like she made you a better person._

~x~

Forgiveness, Sayoko was learning, could be a quiet, unassuming thing, sneaking up and sinking in with no more fanfare than the unfurling of flower petals. Her thoughts were in this vein as she sat in the grass, watching An and the others play hopscotch. She would have liked to join, but—not in front of all these people.

Behold Yukimura Sayoko, the awkward kid in the metaphorical corner.

Or she was, anyway, until her brother beckoned to her, and she trotted over, meanwhile looking around for, as she always did, Niou. She spotted him sitting backwards on a chair, his expression sly as he spoke to Sanada. He only baited the vice-captain when bored or aggravated; in this case, it was the latter.

Was he angry about what she'd done and said, mere hours before?

_Don't be so self-centered, _she scolded herself, even as heat washed over her at the memory of his mouth on hers, _whether he's in a bad mood or not probably has nothing to do with me._

"Hi," she said, coming to stand before her brother. She could tell by his posture (arms folded over his chest, legs stretched out) that he was growing restless. He probably would have preferred to be in his garden, planting the last of his herbs. She'd helped him the day before, and had found a worm the size of a baby snake.

She had dubbed it His Royal Majesty Wormy the Magnificent, King of the Garden and All Adjacent and Sundry Territories (these territories being commonly referred to as the small pond and a nearby hedge). Unfortunately, Wormy's reign had been short, as a robin had promptly swooped down and carried him off. It was all very cruel.

"Hi," her brother smiled. "Are you all right?"

"Yes." It was a default response, a knee-jerk reaction; they both knew it, and the other people at his table probably did, as well, though they were studiously looking at and talking about other things.

But… she recalled confessing her feelings to Niou, and having him say nothing beyond "Shh." As if he couldn't bear to hear more. He'd taken her back to the team, his lips pressed together and his eyes distant, and even over her desperation, her longing, _love me love me please won't you love me—_

She felt better. She'd said what she'd needed to say, and she'd made a decision, whether good or bad. That was something. Wasn't it? It had to be. She had to believe that.

So she said again, in the soft, firm way she'd learned from him, "Yes. I'm all right, Oniisan." And then: "Aren't you going to play hopscotch?"

"It would lack dignity," he said delicately, and though the look he leveled at her indicated he'd noticed her poor attempt at a distraction, he did not call her on it. "Though Tachibana-kun does seem to be having a good time." They both watched An hop through the course, tongue poking out of her mouth.

"She could have fun in a prison camp," said Sayoko dryly. "Would probably convince the guards to take them out dolphin-watching." After a pause: "If I ran a camp like that, I'd at least make the prisoners do something useful, though. Like mermaid-hunting."

"You are a peculiar child," he responded, by way of amused dismissal, and she returned to where she'd been sitting, removing her high-heeled boots and tucking her legs under her. Moments later, Marui dropped down beside her.

"Lovely day to watch high schoolers behave like elementary school children, don't you think?" he asked brightly.

Sayoko tilted her head, which made a short piece of hair fall across her face; she decided to play this off as intentional. "What are you up to, senpai?"

He drew back as if mortally offended. "What, you think I have some ulterior motive in talking to you? Sayoko-chan. Please. Think of all the good times we've had together."

She thought back. "For a while, in middle school, we used the same shampoo."

"And we have shared a bond ever since," he said solemnly. "I'm honored that you remember."

Now the piece of hair was tickling her nose. She blew it away, aware that, with her cheeks puffed out in such a manner, she looked like a gopher. Such was life. "You want to get Kirihara and An back together, don't you."

"That's—" He blinked. "How…?"

She inspected the stubs of her nails. "I've been expecting this. No offense, senpai, but you're kind of nosy. Also, bored. I figured you wouldn't be able to stay out of it for long."

He regarded her for a long moment, and she stared right back at him, her eyebrows raised in a way that toed the line between playful and challenging. At length he said, "So that's how it is. For the record, I don't necessarily want them back together—just friends again. I think it would be easier on everyone."

Fingers skimming her mouth, she said quietly, "Easier for my brother." If Kirihara didn't get his act together soon, her brother would have to step in. She almost went on to ask whether it was in _An's _best interest, but—that was for the other girl to decide.

"For your brother," Marui agreed, leaning back on his hands. "So. You on Team Marui or not? Team Marui being the make-them-get-along-again team."

"… I'm on Team Yukimura," she decided, and went on quietly, "I'll do whatever's best for my brother, and for An, and for me." And Niou. Always, Niou. But with luck, he wouldn't come into play.

"Doesn't that put you on Team Marui?"

"It means that Team Marui and Team Yukimura may, at points, be allies," she said coolly. "But I won't make any promises." She thought An was better off without Kirihara, but the other girl clearly missed him, and their reconciliation would relieve her brother of at least one worry.

Assuming Kirihara would become less douche-like, anyway.

"Fair enough," Marui conceded, on which they shook hands. "But anytime you want to step over to Team Marui, you're welcome. We'll make T-shirts."

"The same offer stands for you." Despite herself, she smiled, ducking her head. "Team Yukimura will have muffins."

He grinned, and ruffled her hair, leaving before she could scowl at him. On his way, he passed an approaching An, and treated her to the same denigrating gesture. She watched him go, then turned back to Sayoko. "What were you and Marui-senpai talking about?"

"Ponies. So did you win at hopscotch, or did you win at hopscotch?"

An, as it turned out, had won at hopscotch.

~x~

"Game, set, match, Tachibana! 6 – 7, 6 – 4, 6 – 2!"

_I won,_ realized An, with a sort of dumbstruck awe. _I actually won. I'm the Singles Two seed._

"Well, what can I say?" They shook hands, Katsuragi's slim and sweaty, or maybe the perspiration was An's own—she couldn't tell. Though the older girl's smile was a little tight, her shrug expressed nonchalance. "You beat me. Congratulations."

"Thank you. Thank you very much, senpai." An bowed slightly.

"Yeah, yeah, let's not get mushy. _God, _I'm thirsty. Aren't you thirsty? It feels like the fricking Sahara out here." On that note, Katsuragi spun on her heel, her long brown ponytail swinging, and exited the court, calling out to the spectators, "Show's over, folks. Come back next time."

An glanced at the other regulars, who'd put off their normal activities to watch the challenge-match. Fuyumi and Shimizu were sharing a speaking look, and the others' expressions ranged from cheerful (Takamiya) to neutral (Watanabe, Nakajima) to watchful (Fujimaru). The latter opened her mouth, frowned, and closed it again, her slate-gray eyes narrowed.

It was Takamiya who spoke. "Nice playing, Tachibana-kun. You've really improved a lot."

An smiled at her. Even after she'd been forgiven by Shimizu, she'd still received some amount of antipathy from the rest of the team. It was sweet-tempered Takamiya's influence that had eased her way. "Thanks, senpai." She looked to Shimizu, wondered whether to ask for Fuyumi's permission instead, and addressed them both. "Can I run over to the boys' courts real fast?"

The captain seemed perplexed, but Shimizu only scratched her nose. "To tell Yukimura's little sister that you won? Why not. If you jog, it'll be a cool-down. Just watch where you're going, and don't talk to strangers."

As An jogged off, Shimizu yelled after her, "Constant vigilance!"

Yet, upon arriving at the boys' tennis complex, she saw neither Sayoko nor any of the regulars, no matter how constant she kept her vigilance. So, reverting back to a state of lesser alertness, she ambled about. The legions of sub-regulars were practicing like normal, except for two boys—third-years, by the looks of them—that stood at ease, probably supervising.

She approached them to ask where the regulars were—on a treasure-hunt, perhaps?—and heard them muttering to each other. "I don't know," said one, a thin fair-haired boy, "but it seems like she's already healed. We're home-free, man."

"I kind of wish we _weren't_, though," grumbled the other, a bespectacled boy with square shoulders, like Sanada's. "Kirihara's out of control. He doesn't _deserve _to be a regular, no matter how good he is. If Yukimura finds out, he might boot the kid out of the lineup."

"And his spot would be open for you or me," finished his companion, before calling out to a boy on the second court, "Move your _feet_, Kuran!" Then, lowering his voice, "Still, though. _I'm _not gonna turn Kirihara in. No way in hell."

"Oh, God, of course not. Me neither. What's the point of being a regular if Niou Masaharu hates your guts? It's a fucking death-warrant. It just—it just _sucks_," the boy with glasses sighed heavily. "The whole situation."

"What whole situation?"

They turned to find An behind them, her face set and her mouth downturned. She repeated, "_What _situation? What did Kirihara do?"

"None of your business, girl," began the larger, square-shouldered boy, stepping toward her in a way that, while not _overtly_ threatening, was not at all friendly. When she only raised her chin, he growled, "Didn't anyone ever teach you not to eaves—"

"Hey, hey," cut in the fair-haired boy, hands raised in a conciliatory fashion. He muttered something to his friend, too low for An to hear most of it, though she did catch Yukimura's name. Then he said to her, with a strained smile, "You're Tachibana-kun, right? I think it would be best if you just returned to your own practice."

"Not until you tell me what Kirihara did." They just frowned at her, so she crossed her arms. "Or should I ask Yukimura-senpai about it?"

"What are we asking my brother about?"

"You have _got_ to be kidding me," muttered the bespectacled boy under his breath, for there stood Sayoko, her rumpled hair a telltale sign that she'd just woken up, though this did not detract from the imperiousness of the look she treated her brother's teammates to.

An swiveled to face her. "_You _know, don't you? What Kirihara did. What…" Her eyebrows drew together. "What you're _hiding _from Yukimura-senpai? They were talking," she gestured to the boys, who glowered, "about someone—about a girl already being healed?" She swallowed, and asked,

"Did… did Akaya hurt you?"

The mahogany-haired girl's face registered no emotion, though An suspected this was not for a lack of feeling, but rather because she could not decide what expression to arrange her features into. She held An's eyes for a long moment, before exhaling slowly, and raising her right arm.

"I _am _healed," she said to the boys. "See?" She waved mockingly. "So there's really no reason for you to ever speak of it again." Her smile was so sweet as to make them wince. "All right?"

Not looking happy about it at all, they nodded, and left, jumping down onto the courts and quickly blending in with all the other teenage boys wearing yellow, many of whom looked curiously at the two girls, though they were paid no heed.

Instead An said quietly, "Please explain."

Sayoko began chewing her nails, which muffled her words, as did the fact that she spoke to the ground. "Remember when I told you that Kirihara and I got into an argument? At the end of it, I went to slap him, and—and he grabbed my wrist, squeezed it," her voice cracked, "—_really _hard."

The chestnut-haired girl gaped, something sick and sour twisting inside her stomach. "And you didn't tell your brother?"

Dully, Sayoko shook her head. "No. It's just—I don't want to cause any problems for my brother, you know? It's not my place to create trouble within the team."

"But—but _still_—"

"But still _nothing_," she snapped. "I'd never forgive myself if I made Oniisan's team stop working right. Because even dumb stuff like this—it can break a team, at the National level. If there's one thing I've learned from all these years of watching my brother play tennis, it's that teamwork is the most important thing.

"So… so we hid it. Me, and Kirihara, and Niou-senpai. Marui-senpai, too."

An hugged her arms to her chest. "I can't believe that Kirihara would do that…" she whispered, except—except she could. If he got angry enough…

"I don't really know what to tell you," Sayoko said haltingly. "But… I don't want this to break my brother's team, and—" She made a face. "I guess I don't want it to affect you and Kirihara, either. Because… I mean, I was going to slap him. For him to grab my wrist, it was fine. He just—got carried away. He didn't mean to hurt me, not that badly.

"And he did apologize," she added quickly, kicking at the ground. "This whole thing… it's just gotten out of control. But you _can't _tell my brother." She fixed An with a terribly sharp, steady look. "Promise me you won't go behind my back and tell him."

An sighed. "I promise." She meant it this time, not like when she'd promised Kirihara that she wouldn't interfere with Niou and Sayoko's relationship. Because… it wasn't her place to tell, and there were too many people that could get hurt. Not to mention, the unwavering intensity of the other girl's gaze was hard to refute.

The Yukimura siblings needed to look into working at a car-dealership.

Sayoko, her face softening, seemed about to reply, but at that moment they heard running footsteps, and turned to see all eight regulars coming around the corner of the track. "Oniisan decided to take them for a run with extra weights," she explained. "In preparation for the Kantou Tournament."

"That _sucks_." An wrinkled her nose. "I hope he doesn't share that idea with my captain and vice-captain… I don't know how much more running I can take, especially not with weights. I have weak ankles—it's why I never got to pursue my considerable talent for figure-skating…"

By "considerable talent," she meant that she'd gone skating just once, at a birthday party, and that she'd beaten another girl in a race. Of course, she'd been going too fast to stop, and had skated right into the wall, chipping a tooth, but—that part didn't need to be shared.

Just as generals picked their battles, so too did master storytellers choose their tales. And they often left out the bits where they looked like chipped-tooth morons.

"No offense, but I wouldn't trust you with blades on your shoes," Sayoko said, suppressing a smile. "Maybe something less dangerous, like Jello-skating."

"Where you have spoons on your shoes, instead of knives?"

Sayoko sounded pleased. "Exactly. Hey, why aren't you at your own practice, anyway?"

It took her a moment to recall why exactly she'd come. "Oh!" She beamed. "I wanted to tell you that I beat Katsuragi." At the other girl's blank look, she explained, "The old seed two."

"Oh, that's awesome." The mahogany-haired girl matched her smile, and teased, "So how long until you challenge the number one player?"

An waved a hand airily. "Thought I'd wait at least a day, you know, just to let her get complacent." Then, she sobered. "She's way better than I am, though. Shimizu is. I'm not sure how to bridge that gap."

Sayoko sucked on one of her fingers—it was probably bleeding, from when she'd bitten her nails. "My brother would play with you, if you asked. A match, or just coaching… whatever you want." She added gently, "And of course he would never use the yips on you."

"Oh," said An quickly, "I wasn't—" But it was no good; her consternation must have been manifest. "It's just… it's frightening. You know? The thought of being stripped of your senses…"

Sayoko's response was lost in someone else's blithe observation. "An-chan, you hang out here so much I'm beginning to think you want to join _our _team." Marui strolled toward them, cheeks somewhat flushed with exertion.

"Yukimura-senpai and I are working out a dental insurance agreement as we speak," An reported. Since when had he gone from calling her Tachibana-kun to An-chan? Not that it mattered; she actually felt more comfortable with her given name.

He laughed. "Well, that's good to hear, I guess. Unless you get a better package than I do—I think I'm getting a cavity…"

"Yeah, I've heard candy will do that to you," Sayoko said wryly, and then: "I told her. About Kirihara, and my wrist, and everything. Just so you know."

"… Huh," said Marui, and his cheery persona faltered for just one second, revealing something sharp and shining, before it was back in place. "Well, the more the merrier, I suppose. Hey, Akaya!" he called over his shoulder.

Kirihara, sitting on the ground some distance away, looked up from messing with his ankle-weights, pushing his hair out of his face. "What?"

"C'mere."

The younger boy frowned, but stood, approaching them unhurriedly. Marui only smiled when An shot him an uneasy glance, and placed a hand on Sayoko's shoulder. "You tell Akaya that you're in on the secret. Me and Sayoko-chan have to go talk about muffins."

The mahogany-haired girl looked distinctly unimpressed, but didn't resist as he propelled her away. An, suddenly alone, was left to just stand there, and stare at Kirihara. He stopped a couple feet way from her, hands in his pockets. "What did Marui-senpai want?" he asked flatly.

She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "… For you to know that I know, now. About Sayoko's wrist."

He looked as if he didn't know how to respond—green eyes big and dark, mouth just slightly open. Then, he scowled, shoulders hunching. "I said I was sorry, okay? I didn't mean to hurt her."

Softly, she said, "I know. She told me."

"She did?"

An nodded.

"Oh." He frowned, and was silent for a moment, before saying again (partly to himself, it seemed), "I didn't _mean_ to hurt her. I just—" He shook his head. "I got _mad_. I got mad, and I lost control, and—damn it. _Damn _it."

He looked at her then, warily, and she knew he was waiting for her reaction—anger or understanding, condemnation or forgiveness. But she didn't know quite _how _to react, so she just looked back at him. A moment passed, tense but quiet, in a way, and—

"… I should get back to practice," she said slowly, turning away. She'd gone only a few steps when she heard him draw breath, heard the rustling of fabric and grass as he shifted his stance.

He said, "Wait."

An faced him.

She watched as he tried to speak, watched as he sifted and sorted through words and phrases, through his feelings. Watched him fight himself. And, finally, watched him lose.

He said, "Nevermind."

* * *

Spring break whatttt. So I was actually considering that thing where you take applications for OCs (for one of the girl regulars), but then I was like... No. Though you guys can probably come up with some pretty interesting ones. (:

Disclaimer: I do not own _Prince of Tennis_, or Green River Ordinance's "Brother" (lyrics at the top).


	32. We'll See Just Where Your Heart Has Been

Author's Note: My writing-style and I are fighting. I WILL WIN. But until then, you get chapters like... this. So, apologies.

* * *

**250 Dark Stars**

_(Who will love you?_

_Who will fight?_

_Who will fall far behind?)_

…

"I think I should smoke a pipe."

"Is that so," Niou drawled.

Sayoko nodded, swinging her legs from the bleacher-seat. "It would add to my image, I think. Make me look pensive and mysterious and… pensively mysterious. Mysteriously pensive, if you will."

"You could pull it off," he agreed, rubbing his jaw as he considered her. "A monocle would complete the look." He created a circle with his thumb and index finger, pretending to polish it, and hold it up to the light.

She giggled, before quieting. Talk of monocles had drawn her attention to the faint shadows under his eyes. "Niou-senpai… you look tired."

He lifted a shoulder. "The warmer it gets, the harder it is for me to sleep." At her troubled expression, he exhaled. "Sweetie, it's not a big deal. Stop looking at me like I told you I have twenty-four hours left to live." He added, "You worry about me too much." Yet he sounded… almost pleased.

Three days had passed since she'd kissed him, and she ached to do it again. Just his gaze made her feel on the verge of heatstroke—God only knew what his touch would do. She certainly didn't, as he hadn't touched her since. Sometimes he would reach toward her hair or face, only to look distantly surprised by his own impulse, and retract his hand.

So he respected the boundaries she'd laid down. But it was—difficult. Even now, they sat with almost two feet separating them, and still there'd been a moment when they'd met each other's eyes, and had to turn away. The kiss hung between them, sweet and heady, clinging to every word, every glance.

"Um," she said, clearing her throat. "You could move somewhere cold. Like Antarctica. How do you feel about penguins?"

He raised a brow. "I'm in favor of them." Though he spoke lightly, she sensed that his frustration from Sunday had not abated, had only been buried. She wasn't sure what this hurt more, her head or her heart.

"A supporter of flightless birds, huh. I've always suspected as much, from the first time I met you."

Her comment had been flippant, but Niou's face went blank, save for a thoughtful tilt to his chin. "You were different back then, you know," he said after a pause.

She touched her lip. "… Of course I was. I was eleven."

He smirked. "You had these big blue eyes," he went on, as if she hadn't spoken, "but you never looked around you. Not even because you were self-absorbed, like now." There was no bite to his words, but still she winced. They both knew she'd always been looking at her brother.

(And she was reaching reaching reaching—)

However. She remembered being introduced to her brother's new team, recalled being particularly drawn to Niou, both fascinated and unnerved by his sharp gaze and cavalier manner, by his low smooth voice.

And she said, "I looked at you."

He went quiet, and so did she, not quite regretting what she'd said, but still thinking that—that maybe they were both a little frightened by how much she loved him.

~x~

"Oh," gasped An, "my," gasp, "_God_."

"Deep breaths, Tachibana," advised Shimizu, her forehead creased. "Deep, even breaths. I'm talking Zen-like, Buddhist-meditation, _ommmm_-type breaths, here. Don't die on me, kid. I want to keep my record clean—haven't killed a girl yet."

"Came close, though," remarked Katsuragi, faring far better than An after the run the regulars had taken with their new ankle-weights—it turned out Shimizu and Yukimura were in the same class, and shared training techniques. The bastards. "That time in ninth grade."

"With whatshername," the shorter girl recalled. "Yeah, I remember that. Didn't think anyone's face could ever turn that red. It was actually kind of a pretty color. Sort of like Bunta-kun's hair."

"Little darker, I think." Katsuragi tossed a water bottle to An, and continued, "Like Fujimaru-chan's shoelaces."

Fujimaru Imari, walking by and, indeed, wearing white sneakers with magenta laces, looked up. Shimizu made a dismissive gesture. "Just talking about your shoes—you're rockin' 'em. Go practice your serve on court one, yeah?"

"Yes, fukubuchou." Her voice was quiet and—and solid, in a way. It had a soft sort of weight, like sun-warmed soil. Pausing only to shoot a narrow look at An, she trotted off to do as bid.

The chestnut-haired girl, once she had breath enough to speak, asked, "So why does Fujimaru hate me? Not gonna lie, it's kind of cramping my style." Her not-being-hated style, that was.

"It's not you she hates," Katsuragi replied, languidly stretching her arms above her head, "it's your boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend. Whatever. You know the kid I'm talking about."

"But why?"

Shimizu scrunched up her nose. "Uh… that's probably my bad, actually. See, before you came, Fujimaru was the very best girl in her year. So I thought it would be fun to see how she matched up against the best boy in her year. And, well. Kirihara _crushed_ her."

"And he wasn't very sporting about it," Katsuragi yawned. She was lying sprawled out on the grass, her cheek on her folded arms.

An froze. "He didn't… he didn't aim at her, did he?"

"Oh," said the blond girl, blinking, "oh, no. No, he just snarked at her, and was just generally a brat. A sore winner, you could say. So Fuyumi took him on the next day, and put 'im in his place." She puffed up. "And then _I _played Yukimura, and I _thrashed _him."

A pause.

"… Or that might have been a dream."

"Yeah," snorted Katsuragi, "yeah, I'm gonna bet that was a dream."

"I had a dream about Yukimura-senpai, too," An mused. "At least, I think so. He was Russian, for some reason, and he kept trying to sell me a honey-baked ham. Or maybe cocaine. I forget."

"Just say no," Shimizu broke in. "To coke, anyway. Not to ham. Ham is delicious. And on that note, I ask you: why didn't Yukimura's little sister ask _our _team to do an exhibition match with Hyotei? I'm a little offended."

An scratched her head. "Uhhhh, well…"

"Nah," the older girl shrugged, "I get it. I'd rather see the boys play, too. Though I would like to have a go at that Atobe. Guess I'll just have to find some other time to challenge him."

"Like in your dreams?" Katsuragi asked wryly. Shimizu threw a tennis ball at her.

"He hangs around Tokyo's street courts sometimes," An remarked, looking up at the sky. "Dunno why, 'cause he says street tennis is for losers, but whatever."

Before either girl could ask how she knew that, a sarcastic voice inquired, "Will you guys lie around talking about boys all day, or do you plan to play any tennis? I need someone to hit with." Watanabe stood over them, holding a silver racquet. She and Fujimaru both had black hair, but where Fujimaru's was coarse and close-cropped, hers was sleek, and would have hung down her back in a perfect sheet had it not been up in a high ponytail.

"Raise your hand if you're the vice-captain." Shimizu followed her own advice, and observed brightly, "Oh, look! Mine's the only one in the air. That must mean whether or not we lie around is my decision, not yours, Chouko." Nevertheless, she stood, and toed Katsuragi's arm. "Get up."

"Mfgh. Sleeping."

"Sleep while practicing your serve with Fujimaru. Court one. Now. Begone." Shimizu nudged her again, more forcefully, and the brunette finally rose and ambled away, her pale green eyes half-lidded. She would do as instructed, An knew, but would put in no special effort. In fact, she seemed to take pride in her own carelessness, her idleness.

So how was her stamina better than An's?

Watanabe folded her arms over her chest. "That doesn't help me any. I still need a practice partner."

"And I need a passing grade in calculus, but you don't see me complaining." When the other girl raised her eyebrows, smiling very very faintly, Shimizu amended, "Okay, I complain about Kato-sensei being out to get me. Not about the actual grade. There's a difference."

"Uh huh."

"There _is_. Anyway. Tachibana will hit with you."

"Fine." Watanabe turned and walked toward an empty court, her strides not quite graceful, but—exact, even. Balanced and measured.

"I don't wanna," An muttered, once she was out of earshot. "She's mean."

"Actually," said Shimizu, "she's one of the nicest people I've ever met." At the younger girl's skeptical look, she grinned. "Just not when tennis is involved. Now, away with you." She sat back down with a thump. "Let me sit here and flagrantly abuse my power in peace."

~x~

An's hitting session with Watanabe was, however, cut short when Kirihara showed up. He didn't spare his ex-girlfriend a glance, just strolled over to where Fuyumi and Takamiya were doing a doubles demonstration for the underclassmen. "Yukimura-buchou wants Tachibana."

Fuyumi made him wait as she took a long, unhurried sip of water. Her auburn-haired doubles partner, in turn, seemed… not exactly uncomfortable, but—self-conscious, maybe. Resealing her water bottle, Fuyumi asked, "And why is that?"

He sighed, as if he were doing her some great personal favor. "Marui-senpai's been bugging him about it—he wants Tachibana's input on some new move or whatever. I dunno, I wasn't really listening."

The tall brunette was clearly unimpressed, but… "Fine. Just tell Yukimura that if he keeps borrowing my players, I'm going to start charging rent. Tachibana!"

An, ignoring Watanabe's disgruntled exhalation of breath, jogged over, carefully not looking at Kirihara. "What is it, buchou?"

"Oh, don't pretend you weren't listening. Go on, then, but try to be quick about it. The whole team will be running suicides at the end of practice, and I don't want you to miss them."

An resolved to take as long as possible.

Walking toward the boys' tennis complex with Kirihara, they went by court one, on which Fujimaru and Katsuragi still served. First-years scurried around, picking up the balls and refilling the crate with them. Fujimaru paused as they passed, fixing Kirihara with a steely look.

"Oh," he said, breaking the awkward silence that had already fallen. His tone was of dim surprise. "It's that girl." Yet his gaze was not on the girl he'd crushed the year before, but rather on the one beside her, who'd just hit a neat little serve down the T.

An blinked. "Katsuragi-senpai? What about her?"

For a moment it seemed he would not reply, but then: "Nothing, really. It's just that she's always at the tennis club I go to. Playing other people, or just hitting against a ball-machine. For hours and hours at a time."

She missed a step, stumbling forward. Kirihara looked up sharply, but did not move to steady her—which was fine, as she righted herself immediately. "_Katsuragi_-senpai? Are you sure? That doesn't make any sense. She doesn't even work hard here—why would she practice on her own time?" And spend all that money to rent a court…

Flatly, he asked, "How should _I _know?"

An frowned at him. "You don't have to be a jerk about it."

"And _you _don't have to be so nosy." Yet as soon as he said this, he made a face, as if he'd been the one insulted, and not her. He lengthened his stride, making An work to keep up, and she couldn't help but think of the last time he'd fetched her from practice. She recalled the chase and his laughter, her realization that they actually got along well.

And she asked, "Are you okay?"

Because his mouth was thin and downturned, his shoulders rigid, a straight line of tension. She could tell he was fighting that battle again, the one inside his head. Being on both sides, it seemed he could not win without losing.

He said, "No."

The word slipped through gritted teeth, as if stolen from him, but it was still more than she'd expected. "… Okay," she allowed. "Um… do you want to talk about it?"

He said again, firmly, "No."

She shook her head, but smiled. It was a small smile, resigned and a little rueful, but— "Yeah," she said, "yeah, I figured you'd say that. Still. You can't say I didn't try."

Though she felt him looking at her, she wouldn't face him, and was caught off-guard when he said again, "No." This time he said it in a softer, weary sort of way, more a murmur than a denial. In this same strange voice, he went on, "I can't say that."

She didn't quite know how to answer.

Instead she said, "So Fujimaru really as a grudge against you, you know." At his blank look, she clarified, "Fujimaru Imari. My teammate." It didn't appear to ring a bell. "A second-year, counter-puncher… short black hair, gray eyes… about my height, darker skin…? No? Nothing?"

He blinked once, indolently. "No clue who you're talking about."

Was he playing dumb just to be a jerk? She squinted, but he seemed genuinely bemused. "You played her last year. Remember? Shimizu-fukubuchou set it up. And you beat her…?"

His brows knit together, before— "Oh. Her."

She threw her hands up. "Ladies and gentlemen, he's done it! This boy has _proven _he has the memory capability of an earthworm, at least. Kirihara Akaya, you've completed the challenge—how do you feel?"

There was a flicker of something around his mouth—maybe a grin, maybe a frown. "Hey, I crush a lot of people at tennis, okay? Like hell I can remember all of them." His pace had dropped, giving An's poor legs a break. They'd already been through a lot that day.

"Anyway," she continued, swinging her arms back and forth, "Fujimaru's still pretty bitter about it all, and she's kind of taking it out on me. It's not cool, man."

"So what?" He lifted his chin toward the sky, sunlight spilling across his face, but under his lashes, his eyes were dark and distant, a storm on the horizon. "Are you trying to guilt-trip me into beating her up for you or something? You can deal with it yourself."

She stared at him. "I—what? That's not even—_what_?" She hadn't been implying that at all, and he _knew _it. "Seriously, what is _up _with you? You're not even—I just don't—what the _hell_? I mean, I just…"

_I thought things were finally getting better between us._

She planted her hands on her hips. "For real, Kirihara. What's your problem?"

He grimaced, and kicked out. A piece of the ground, loose and soft with moisture, went flying, and landed some distance away. "I don't _know_. Okay? I don't know."

"That's not _okay_," she snapped. "How could you think that's okay? You…" She shook her head, and stopped walking. "What's going on inside your head? What could you possibly be thinking?"

"I'm not _thinking _anything." He tore a hand through his hair, a fast vicious motion that seemed to aggravate more than soothe him. "I'm just—I just—… let's go," he muttered. "Let's just keep going." He started walking faster, as if he couldn't bear another second alone with her.

An bit her lip. Kirihara was definitely conflicted, and distracted, and—he wasn't the sort to let his feelings stew for long. What would he do? For lack of an answer, and lack of a better option, she followed him, murmuring, "You know… when I asked you out, it's because I was afraid of losing you.

"But now, to lose you, really completely lose you… it would make me sad. It would make me sad, and disappointed, and just—I don't know. It would really suck. But…" She shrugged, as if it didn't matter, and maybe it didn't, except that it did. "I could deal with it. I wouldn't like it, but I would deal with it."

Once again, he had slowed down, and now he turned to look at her; though the space behind him was empty, it seemed his back was up against a wall. He demanded, "Why are you telling me this?"

She tried to smile. "I don't watch the news, so I don't have much else to talk about. And… I guess I thought you should know. Because I really—I really have to wonder, and maybe this is self-important or whatever, but… aren't you afraid of losing me too?"

"Haven't I already?" He sounded faintly accusatory, but also as if he genuinely wanted to know.

"… No," she said, rocking back on her heels, "no, not quite. But at this rate, you will."

A moment passed. A breeze, stirring their hair, carried the sounds of people's shouts and laughter, and the smell of flowers, and fresh-cut grass. Kirihara said, finally, "I don't… _want _to. Lose you, I mean." He scowled. "At this point, it's not even—it's not even you I'm mad at. Mostly, it's just… it's me. I won't apologize, though," he added quickly.

It would have been nice, but she hadn't expected him to. And she thought… she thought that he was sorry, at least partly, at least in his own way. That was enough, for now. "Well," she said, with a careful pause. "_I've_ already apologized, so I won't do it again."

"Whatever." He rolled his shoulders. "I never even wanted your apology, anyway." Perhaps unconsciously, he angled his body toward the boys' tennis courts as he muttered, "There is… there is something I have to do, though."

~x~

Akaya wasn't often uncomfortable. There were places and situations—on a tennis court, or discussing video games—where he felt more comfortable than others, but even when at a disadvantage, like staring down an entire rival team by himself, he rarely felt discomfort. He slipped into familiar roles: the cocky ace, or the cheeky underclassman.

It was how he dealt with things, how he handled himself and others. It came naturally, for he wasn't exactly acting, never quite pretending—just choosing which aspect of himself to display. It had always _worked_. He'd never had to doubt or question himself, never had to consider his actions. He'd been comfortable as he was.

And then stupid Tachibana An had to come along, with her stupid warmth and earnestness and blue-gray eyes. At time, he felt more comfortable with her than he'd ever been. At other times, she made him take a long hard look at himself, and what he saw… it didn't sit well with him. Not one bit.

Because if she could be so open and honest about her feelings… if she could admit to being wrong, could admit to her mistakes and apologize for them… then why couldn't he? She was just some girl, not very big and not very conspicuous. How could she be so much _stronger _than him?

Marui had told him that he was only hurting himself. Akaya knew it was true, but didn't know how to _stop_. He couldn't find the right words to tell An how he felt, couldn't and wouldn't express how she'd hurt him, how she'd made him feel miserable and angry, confused and resentful.

How he _was _afraid of losing her, was terrified of it, but kept pushing her away because he was afraid to _trust _her, too, was afraid to make himself vulnerable to her again. He _hated _the way she'd made him feel, and would not give her a chance to do it again.

But before that… she'd made him feel good. Really good, and he didn't really have words to describe that, either—the sort of soaring feeling he'd gotten when she smiled, or the way his pulse had gone crazy when he'd made her laugh, like she'd set off fireworks beneath his skin.

He couldn't tell her about the bad feelings, or the good, but he had to do something. For the sake of his pride, he had to at least match her strength.

That was why, upon reaching the boys' courts, he looked around for his captain. Marui had already accosted An, chatting about some new volley trick he was trying out, but Akaya paid him no mind. There, by the clubhouse, stood Yukimura, speaking to Yanagi.

Steeling himself, Akaya walked over. "Buchou?"

The older boy adjusted the jacket draped over his shoulders. "What is it, Akaya?" His tone was agreeable, but he seemed prepared to hear something unpleasant. Yanagi, though expressionless, also had an air of watchfulness.

Probably because Akaya couldn't keep his anxiety off his face, out of his posture. His throat, suddenly, was bone-dry. He swallowed. "I," he said, and couldn't go on. What was he doing? Why was he looking for trouble? If he was smart, he would just drop the subject, walk away.

Except he couldn't take it anymore, the guilt. Not so much about hurting Sayoko, but about deceiving Yukimura. He was—he was _ashamed _of himself, ashamed that he'd let the worst of his nature get the best of him, and especially ashamed that he'd begged Niou not to tell Yukimura.

How spineless could he be?

It was Sayoko who was supposed to be weak, Sayoko who should have gone screaming and crying to her brother. At least then, whatever the consequences, the matter would have been over and done with. Instead, Akaya had to fess up himself. He couldn't go on like this, and… it was what An would have done. What An would want him to do.

He said, all in a rush, "Yukimura-buchou, I—I, it's just—I hurt your sister. Like a week ago, maybe. I didn't mean to, but it's just that we were arguing, and that was my fault, too, but it's just that—I mean, there's no excuse, but I'm really sorry, and I didn't mean to, and it's just—it's just… I… I thought… you should… know," he finished weakly.

Yukimura had gone frighteningly still and silent; now Yanagi's eyes were open as he looked at his friend with plain caution and concern. The people who'd heard this confession—An, Marui, at least a dozen others—were staring. Too evenly, Yukimura asked, "Hurt her _how_?"

"Her… her wrist. The right one." Akaya fought the urge to backpedal, to back _away_. "I squeezed it too tight." He almost qualified that it hadn't been that bad an injury, that she was already healed, but—no excuses, he reminded himself. There was no excuse.

But God, faced with his captain—he wished there was.

So quietly as to be almost inaudible, Yukimura asked, "And why am I only learning of this now?"

Akaya clenched and unclenched his fists; his palms were sweat-slick. "Well… it's just that—I asked Niou-senpai not to tell you."

"Niou knew of this?"

Too late, Akaya realized that by coming clean, he'd damned everyone else as well. "Um, well—well, yeah, but—but I asked him not to tell you, it's my fault, I'm the one that—"

Someone whose appearance was as delicate as Yukimura's should not have been so intimidating. His expression, hard and cold and harsh like a desert, made Akaya's stomach twist. "Who else knew?"

"… Well, your sister. Um, obviously, I—I guess. And Marui-senpai, and—and some other people."

Marui, mouth set in a grim line, took a single step forward, bowed, and muttered, "Sorry, Yukimura." Luckily for him, two more targets appeared. Niou and Sayoko had been by the bleachers, but now approached, the former with his typical languid, rolling strides, the latter with quick, careful steps.

Like that, Sayoko's beauty and regality were inconsequential. She looked small, and young, and distressed, her blue eyes stark against a face gone white. "Oniisan…"

"Sayoko. Come here." Her brother's voice brooked no argument, and she made her way to his side, shoulders hunched, head down. He took her wrist in his hands, inspected it, and Akaya was sure everyone within a mile held their breath.

She whispered, "It's healed, Oniisan. I'm all right."

He let her go, fixing Niou with a dagger of a look. "Explain this to me."

The pale-haired boy at least had the good sense not to shrug. "No explanation, really."

Sharply, Yukimura corrected, "You mean no excuse."

Niou inclined his head in a you-could-say-that sort of way, but Sayoko broke in. "It's not Niou-senpai's fault." She took a few faltering steps away from her brother, and lifted her chin, though she was still snow-pale. "He wanted to tell you, but I wouldn't let him. It's my fault."

He spared her a glance. "Niou can make his own decisions."

"But so can _I_." Yet when her brother looked at her a second time, more severely, she cringed, and backed away again, toward Niou, who, all of a sudden, seemed quite fed up with the whole thing. He moved forward, touched the side of her head.

"Sayoko," he said, with a ghost of a smile, "Sayoko, it's all right." To her brother, he said, "That's really all there is to it. I'm sorry. My bad."

Akaya had not realized An was beside him until she gave a soft, worried gasp, probably at Yukimura's expression, but he didn't have time to look, for she'd started forward, and he had to grab her around the waist. "Oh, no you _don't_," he hissed. "Do you _really _think it's smart to get in the middle of that?" She didn't answer, only shrugged him off and hugged her arms to her chest. Still, she didn't attempt to interfere again.

Sayoko, meanwhile, seemed to have found some resolve, and had shifted so that she stood in front of Niou, facing her brother. Was she actually dumb enough to think she could _protect _him? She said earnestly, "I'm sorry I hid this from you. I'm so sorry. But you can't blame Niou-senpai."

Yukimura, however, was having none of it. "While I decide exactly how best to deal with this situation," he began, smiling in a way that did not bode well for anyone, "Renji will take you to the nurse, Sayoko."

"But my wrist is _fine_—"

"I'd like a professional opinion, not yours."

Sayoko flinched, and stared at him imploringly, but he only motioned for her to join Yanagi, who had clasped his arms behind his back. "But Oniisan," she said faintly. "Oniisan," she pleaded, like it was the only word she knew. But he remained impassive, and, stricken, she turned to Niou, who only lifted a shoulder, despite looking at her very softly.

Her brother said, "Sayoko."

That was all it took. She bowed her head and walked away from the pale-haired boy. No backwards glances, no hesitation, just compliance, and—and despite himself, Akaya couldn't help but think that _meant _something. Yukimura reached out to touch her arm as she passed him, but she shied away, face veiled by her hair, and allowed Yanagi to lead her to the school building.

Once the two had crested a hill, Niou raised his eyebrows. "Well done," he said flatly. "The day's just not over until you've broken Sayoko to your will. Isn't that right?"

_Oh, God no, _thought Akaya desperately, _don't try to make it worse._ It was strange to see Niou drawn up to his full height; he'd forgotten how tall he was when he wasn't slouching.

"I'm not entirely sure what you mean," said Yukimura, too pleasantly to be well-intentioned. "I love my sister."

"I don't doubt it. But love isn't exempt from resentment, is it?"

"That's enough." The amiability went out of Yukimura's voice like a doused flame. "You've gone just about too far."

But the unassailable tone that had so crushed Sayoko didn't affect Niou. His shoulders were back, and his hands at his sides; contrasted with the rest of his demeanor, the projected gravity was startling. "You've held it against her all these years," he continued, and it was clear he meant how Sayoko would not visit her brother in the hospital. "Just get over yourself."

Intensely, almost angrily, he went on, "She was scared, all right? She was _scared_, and confused, and maybe she messed up, but she loves you so _goddamned _much it shouldn't even matter."

Yukimura stared at him. For a moment, his open incredulity stripped him of his august mien. For a moment, he was just a boy. "That's not—" He stopped himself, closed his eyes. The moment passed. Tightly, he said, "That's it. This discussion is over."

"Yeah," said Niou. If nothing else, he seemed… tired. "Yeah, it is."

He turned and left the boys' tennis complex.

* * *

I have learned two things from watching _The Vampire Diaries_:

1) When in doubt, rip someone's heart out.  
2) There is never enough drama. Except for when there is.

Disclaimer: I do not own _Prince of Tennis_, or Birdy's "Skinny Love" (lyrics at the top).


	33. Space for Thinking, Space to Scream to

Author's Note: **koori no hime **suggested I write a Yukimura fic, and I do have a piece about him and the girlfriend he had prior to this story. It's called _the echoes of angels_, and it clocks in at about 5000 words. I won't post it, but anyone who'd like to read it can just ask. ^_^

* * *

**250 Dark Stars**

_(The fresh taste of the mistakes_

_Pray these words come out right_

_Brother, won't you come back home?)_

…

"Sayoko, let me in."

She sat on her bed with her knees drawn to her chest, arms wrapped around them, eyes squeezed shut. If she couldn't see him, he couldn't see her. If she made herself as small as she felt, perhaps she would disappear entirely. But still her brother knocked, one-two-three, one-two-three, just-give-up, one-two-three.

"I'm serious, Sayoko." And indeed he was, if his exasperated tone was any indication. "Just unlock your door. I only want to talk."

She curled in on herself even further, fighting the impulse to do as he bid, to give in once again, just give up, just give up, you know you'll never win. It made her feel physically _ill_, the refusal to comply, knowing that it was futile, that it wouldn't accomplish anything even if it worked. And it wouldn't, because…

Because they couldn't both win, and he would never lose. So she had to.

And she _hated _him for that. Hated him for making her feel this way, like she was nothing, like she couldn't do a single thing right. Hated him for treating her like dirt, for not even pretending to care what she thought. And she hated _herself _for hating him, because he was her brother and she loved him, didn't deserve him, how horrible could she _be_?

She tried to wish them away, the dark sick ugly feelings, the twisted tangled mess that strangled her heart. Tried to wish away her brother.

(There was a monster under her bed outside her door inside her head—)

He knocked for a while longer, but eventually seemed to get fed up and leave. She sucked in a breath as silence fell, hardly daring to hope. Undoubtedly, he had more important things to attend to. Had she actually won a round? Not, of course, that anyone would call her strategy "winning." Just running away.

Once the nurse had confirmed that her wrist was fine, Sayoko had gone straight home by herself—much to Yanagi's consternation, but it wasn't like he would physically restrain her. Her full-scale retreat had led her to her bedroom, and it was there that her brother had cornered about an hour later. And she'd actually… it seemed like she'd actually held out.

Unfortunately, she hadn't stocked her hideout, having left her bag downstairs. Her homework could go neglected, but she had to work on student council stuff. Unfolding herself, she crept toward the door, unlocking it and peering out cautiously.

Goddamn.

Her brother sat against the wall, silent as the grave, but rose immediately, taking hold of the door before she could duck back inside. He said, "Sayoko." And that was that. He took her in his arms, held her to his chest. "Sayoko," he said again, to the top of her head, "I'm not angry at you. I was just concerned about you. You understand that, don't you?"

His voice was soft and reassuring, the same murmur that had banished her nightmares, stopped her tears, convinced her that she was _safe_. She didn't return his embrace, just leaned against him, suddenly exhausted, and nodded. Because what else could she do? What could she fucking _do_?

She was choking on them, the love and the hate, but the bitterest taste in her mouth was defeat.

Why did she even try?

~x~

"That's it," Marui declared, chin in the air. "I'm not going to practice this afternoon. I'm going to join the circus, and be an actual tightrope-walker. It has to be safer than facing Yukimura's wrath."

An ran her hands through a wing of her hair, over and over, though there were no tangles. Biting her lip, she ventured, "So he's super mad…?"

"_Scary _mad," Jackal corrected, arms crossed over his chest. "I mean, he's Yukimura. This morning at practice, he didn't yell or shout or even really berate anyone. He was just—" He fumbled for the words, and Marui provided them.

"He was just taking all his negative emotions or whatever, and binding them together into a neat little package of I-will-kill-you-all." The redhead grimaced, and rubbed his thighs. "And he presented that package to us with suicides at random intervals, all practice long. It was just _awesome_. Seriously. Made my entire goddamn day."

"Each time, the last twenty-five people to finish the suicides had to do them all over again," Jackal added glumly. "And all of this is in addition to the extra wrist-weights we have."

"You don't have to wear wrist-weights in the circus," Marui pointed out. "Dude, you could be a lion-tamer. You know how to hold a chair. You want to come too, An-chan? You could like… swim with dolphins, or something."

Over Jackal's exasperated "It's a circus, not SeaWorld, and who says _I'm _coming with you, anyway," An mumbled, "I knew about Sayoko's wrist. Do you think he'll be mad at me too?"

"Wouldn't worry about it too much," Marui shrugged. "He like, loves you, and he might give you that I'm-disappointed-that-you-haven't-proven-yourself-to-be-as-infallible-as-I-am face, but at this point… it's less about Sayoko-chan's wrist and more about the team like, betraying him, I think. Yukimura takes that shit seriously."

"So he's taking it out on everyone, even those of us who didn't know." Half-heartedly, Jackal shoved his doubles partner. "So thanks for that, man. Really."

"It's _Niou's _fault," the shorter boy protested. "I can't help it if I succumb to peer pressure. Blame society. And Niou. When in doubt, blame Niou. I'm going to put that on a bumper sticker."

An, flexing her fingers, glanced around at the other students in the hallway. "People are already talking about how Niou-senpai didn't come back to practice after he left. They're saying he quit the team."

"People need to get a hobby," Jackal sighed.

"They have one: talking about us. And, really. Can you blame them?" Marui gestured to himself in a do-you-_see_-what-a-sexy-beast-I-am manner, before sobering. "But… I mean, he didn't _quit_."

"He did skip practice this morning, though." Jackal rubbed his forehead. "Which only makes it worse for everyone. The guy's my friend—I think—but does he have to be such a selfish bastard all the time?"

"It's his thing," said Marui idly. "Everybody needs a gimmick."

"And what's yours, senpai?" inquired Kirihara, approaching the group. His uniform was rumpled, and his hair messier than usual. He glanced at An, and then away. She began running her hands through her hair again.

"Mine," Marui proclaimed, "is… is… hell, I don't know. I'm starving, and my legs are on fire, and—this is your fault, anyway, Akaya. I mean, we've passed the point of being mad at you, but still."

"That took guts, though." Jackal used his fist to bop the younger boy on the head, earning him a scowl. "Telling Yukimura the truth."

"I just wish you'd thought it through first," Marui muttered, "and considered how it would affect everyone else. Specifically me."

"But it was really brave," An said softly. Kirihara just shifted his weight from foot to foot, so she went on, "Yukimura-senpai… he was really scary. And what Niou-senpai said, about him resenting Sayoko… do you think that's true?" She looked at each of them in turn, her eyes large. "What should we do?"

"Nothing," said Kirihara. His gaze was heavy on her, a solid, steady thing, grounding her. "Whether it's true or not doesn't matter. It doesn't concern us. We just wait out Yukimura-buchou's anger, and play great tennis, and win another National title. That's all there is to it."

Judging by their sympathetic but not overly concerned expressions, Marui and Jackal agreed. An sighed, and rubbed the back of her neck. "I guess so."

~x~

When the final bell rang, Yukimura walked Sayoko and An to the tennis courts. Instead of punishing his sister for being complicit in the deception, he was practically doting on her. It was like he was trying to prove Niou wrong. Sayoko, though rather withdrawn, responded positively to the extra attention, not at all seeming to begrudge him for the day before.

An wasn't sure how to feel about that, because she thought the world of Yukimura, but—he'd been so cold to his sister, so demeaning. That he was trying to make up for it by being especially affectionate was… nice, but it didn't _solve _anything. How had Sayoko forgiven him so readily?

"It's just easier this way," the mahogany-haired girl had said earlier in the day, upon being asked. "For me, and for him." She'd laughed hollowly. "And what other choice do I have, anyway?"

An hadn't had an answer.

"Congratulations on becoming seed two, An," said Yukimura presently. Like Marui, he had progressed to using her given name, though he'd skipped the -_chan_ stage. Did this mean she could call him Seiichi?

… Probably not.

"Thank you, Yukimura-senpai," she beamed. Was he proud of her? She hoped so.

"Oniisan," Sayoko murmured, "you would hit with An, wouldn't you? To help her get better?"

"Of course," he replied. They'd reached the girls' tennis courts, and An's teammates, entering the clubhouse to change into their uniforms, stared openly at the trio. "I'd be happy to." Very gently, he nudged his sister. "You could hit with her too, you know."

She wrinkled her nose. "Um. Yeah. If by 'hit with her' you mean 'hit the ball into the net.' I don't think I even remember how to hold a racquet, and by now I probably have the hand-eye coordination of like, a worm."

"Still, that could help her." His face was straight, but his eyes shone. "It would help her self-esteem, at least. You'd be taking one for the team." She stuck her tongue out at him, but he only laughed, and briefly touched An's cheek. "Have a good practice. Tell Fuyumi and Shimizu I said to make you run extra laps, just as a way of showing they care."

Now it was An's turn to wrinkle her nose. "Um. That message may change in translation—the 'extra' may become 'less.' In fact, the entire 'make you run extra laps' part may become 'let you play Dance Dance Revolution.'"

He smiled. "That's fair." He turned to leave, but Sayoko lingered, hand outstretched toward the chestnut-haired girl.

"We're working on a secret handshake," An explained, in response to Yukimura's raised eyebrows. "Only I don't remember how it goes. I thought we started up high."

"No, it's in the middle, but we each have to be balancing on our left foot." Sayoko frowned. "Or maybe the right. Wait, at which part were we supposed to spin around? Was that at the beginning?"

"Nah, I think that came after jazz hands."

"Not that you aren't both adorable," Yukimura said wryly, "but the captain, though he should always be fashionably late, should, at some point, at least show up. Let's go, Sayoko."

"Coming, Oniisan." She gave a small wave, and her brother led her away, his hand on her shoulder. He stood straight and tall, his shoulders back, while her body curved toward him, like a seedling reaching for sunlight, or tree roots seeking water.

An exhaled slowly, before entering the clubhouse to tell Shimizu that the Child of God had decreed they should play Dance Dance Revolution. It was the Mandate of Heaven, after all.

~x~

Yet she couldn't focus during practice (and they _did_ practice, despite her best attempt at winning approval for DDR). If everyone else was in trouble for not telling Yukimura about Sayoko's wrist, then she should take responsibility, too. If Kirihara had the courage to own up to the mistake, then so did she.

"Seriously, Tachibana," Shimizu groused, once the younger girl hit another backhand that sailed a good three feet long of the baseline, "did somebody take a stick and just beat the athleticism out of you? Because you suck today. Not even gonna lie. You suck in a way that is not only an embarrassment to this team, but an affront to all people who have ever played a sport. And hell, to people who golf, too."

"Thank you," An grumbled, "thank you for that." It was so nice to have such a supportive, sympathetic vice-captain. Perhaps the older girl would have been more understanding had she actually known what the underlying problem was, but—Shimizu wasn't the one she had to turn herself in to.

And she did have to turn herself in. If she didn't, she'd just get more anxious. She could only hope there was at least some bounty money to collect…

So as soon as she was dismissed—Shimizu's parting words were "I hope you remember how to play tennis tomorrow, instead of whatever the hell you were doing today"—she ran over to the boys' courts. There were not, she noticed, any happy faces. Everyone looked cross and weary, but also as if they were walking on eggshells, wary of their captain's ire.

That didn't do wonders for her resolve, but she made herself approach the bench where Yukimura sat, putting away his racquets. Marui, passing by, made a slashing motion across his throat, but she shooed him away. "… Yukimura-senpai?"

_Okay. Okay. Play it cool. Stand your ground. Make yourself look as big as possible. Stay calm. He can probably smell fear._

Yukimura looked up. His expression was even, but she froze, recalling the aching chill that had entered the air when he had grown angry, the way everyone had stood paralyzed as if he had used the yips on them, the bitter-cold burn of his eyes—

He reached out and grasped her wrist, pulling her down beside him. "Hey," he said softly, "hey. Calm down. What is it you need to tell me?"

She stared at him. "… Um. Um. I just. I just—"

"Just tell me." He let go of her; his manner was calm, patient, meant to soothe. "Go ahead."

She ducked her head. "I knew about Sayoko's wrist and I'm sorry I didn't tell you it's just that it wasn't my secret to tell but we shouldn't have hidden it from you and I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm really really really sor—"

"An." He took her face in his hands, and said, "It's all right. Are you listening to me? I suspected that you knew, and I appreciate that you've told me the truth. Don't worry about it any longer."

She bit her lip. "You're not going to make me run laps…?"

He appeared amused. "That's not exactly within my realm of jurisdiction, but would you feel better if I did?" She mumbled something that even she couldn't understand, and he smiled a little, retracting his hands to run them through his hair. At length he said, "I suppose I'm glad that Sayoko can trust you with things."

He pinned her with a look. "Though you won't ever keep something of that nature from me again."

She cringed. "Yes, Yukimura-senpai."

That seemed to appease him. He began, "My sister," and stopped short. She didn't think he would try again, but he went on, "I'm… it's possible that I've made… mistakes. In my approach to taking care of her." Every word seemed a struggle, a cost, and she had enormous appreciation for the price he was paying.

The corners of his mouth tightened. "If she feels… if it's easier for her to talk to Niou… if it's him that she goes to for help, instead of me… then that's…" He took a breath. "That's definitely an indication that I've been doing something wrong."

_Tell that to her, _An wanted to beg, _tell that to _her_._

His chance appeared, for at that moment Sayoko walked up. One hand clutched her bag to her side, while the other hovered near her mouth. "What are you two talking about…?"

"You." She regarded her brother uncertainly, receiving only a vague smile in return. Rising from the bench, he said to them both, "I'll be back in a moment," and walked toward the clubhouse, motioning for a sub-regular—the-fair-haired boy from the day before—to fall into step behind him.

And, having left the two girls, it was as if Yukimura had flipped a switch—all the softness went out of him. But it wasn't even like his expression or demeanor hardened. It was just that, soft or hard, that aspect of his countenance didn't matter, for he was untouchable. Not aloof like Niou, but—on a different plane of existence.

An frowned. "It's… strange to watch."

"What is?"

An tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "The way your brother… I don't know. The way he shifts gears, I guess. It took him no time at all to go from being like, sort of a normal person, to being _the captain_. You know?" She dangled her legs. "To be able to conduct himself so differently… it probably comes with being such a people person."

Sayoko blinked. "Oniisan isn't a people person at all." At An's incredulous look, she amended, "He's really good with people, yeah, but—but I think that's the thing. He's _too _good with people, and I think… I think that makes it harder for him to connect with them. To be able to manip—" She cut herself off, eyebrows drawing together and lips thinning, parallel lines of consternation.

Yet she forged ahead. "To be able to influence others the way he does… it really sets him apart from them. He's not close to many people, and what few real relationships he has took a long time to build—you should have seen him and Sanada-senpai going at each other, when they were in seventh grade. And I guess…"

She smiled, and it was a pressed flower of a smile, lovely and faded. "I guess that's why it's—incredible, really. How he already cares about you so much."

"About _me_?"

"Sure," said Sayoko, too casually to be carefree. "My brother… he's really attached to you. And it's," she fumbled, "well, it's… I don't know. But… yeah. Yeah."

_Yukimura-senpai cares about me and that's _incredible _and me he cares about _me—

Because while she'd drawn that conclusion herself, given all the evidence to that end, it was still thrilling to get verbal confirmation—and from a reliable source, not Marui, with his infinite reserves of flippancy. "That's _awesome_," she beamed. "I mean, dude. How cool is that?"

"Super cool," replied the mahogany-haired girl, touching her bottom lip, and An realized she was being insensitive. Sayoko's brother was everything to her, and sharing his affection couldn't be easy. It made her wonder… if you divided love, did that make the result any less? Did a person have only a finite amount, to be given out in fractions?

That was a sad thing, she decided, too sad to be true.

She scrambled for a new topic, but before she could come up with something that didn't involve animals, tennis, or a combination of the two, Yukimura returned, carrying his school bag, but still wearing his jersey. He said to Sayoko, "Let's go home. All right?"

"All right. Do we have time to practice our handshake?"

"As I'm sure An would like to make it home before dark, probably not." To the girl in question, he directed a—look. She couldn't really describe it, but it struck her that Yukimura Seiichi had confided in her, and that that was not something to take lightly. "Take care. We'll see you tomorrow."

"May the Force be with you," added Sayoko, her hair stirring in the breeze.

An grinned. "Live long and prosper." Watching the two of them walk away, it seemed impossible that something as ugly as resentment could fester between them. Yet Niou wouldn't just make that up—at least, she didn't think so. Could he be mistaken? God, she hoped so, because… she almost felt as if…

"What're you making that face for?"

Kirihara's voice was slow and guarded; he'd come from the clubhouse, having changed back into his school uniform. She turned more fully toward him, lacing her fingers together. "What face?" It came out more belligerently than she'd intended, and she feared he would storm off.

Instead he cocked his head, his eyelids hooded low over crescent moons of green. "That I'm-thinking-about-something-other-than-sunshine-and-puppies-and-it's-totally-bumning-me-out face."

_Do you actually care? _she wanted to ask. But she said, clumsily, "It's just that—I don't—well. It's just that Yukimura-senpai, he… he makes me miss my brother. A lot. But more than that, it's just that I feel… it's just. This—might sound awful. I don't know."

Idly, Kirihara ran a hand through his hair. "What? You wish he _was _your brother?" When she gaped at him, he shrugged. "You're pretty easy to figure out, you know. I mean, you stare at the guy like he's God's gift to humanity."

"Yeah, well—" She flushed, swiveled her hips, agitated by a prickly, restless feeling. "I mean… it's more complicated than that. But I can't help but be jealous of Sayoko, just for having him with her. To take care of her. And despite myself, I'm—I'm _mad _at my own brother, kind of.

"Because I mean… it's awesome that he's following his dream, you know? I'm really proud of him." Her breath hitched. "But… just one year. He couldn't have waited just one more year? Would that really have impacted his career? Just one more year to graduate normally. Just… just one more year with me.

"… Sorry." She laughed a little, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful, and I know you don't really want to hear any of this." _I know you don't really care, care, please care, please don't be pretending—_

Looking to the left of her, he muttered, "Gratefulness, ungratefulness, whatever. If you're mad at him, be mad. That's how you feel. Acting like everything is super awesome all the time doesn't actually make anything better. But as for Yukimura-buchou… I mean…"

He scowled, cheeks bunching up, curls bouncing, and—he dropped to the ground unceremoniously, sitting with his legs stretched out in front of him. It startled a giggle out of her, but he didn't appear to notice. Squinting, he went on, "I don't really know what I mean. It's just that, whether he's gone or not, I think you're better off with the brother you have."

"Of course, I'm not saying that I wish—"

He swatted her protest away. "Just let me _finish _before you get all defensive, would you?" She shot him a narrow look, but he only rubbed his neck, seeming lost in thought. "… Yukimura-buchou's the best at a lot of things. Most things. But when it comes to being a brother… I dunno. My sister is older than me, so I don't really—well, whatever.

"It's just that you'd probably be way different if he really was your brother. You wouldn't…" He cast his gaze toward the sky, and said quietly, "You wouldn't be you. At least, that's what I think."

An hugged her arms to her chest, suddenly feeling very vulnerable, and just—disquieted. He'd given her a lot to think about. "Well… okay," she said haltingly. "Thanks for… yeah. Thanks. I'll see you tomorrow, I guess." Head down, she took a few steps away from him—

"Hey, do you regret it?"

She paused, turned toward him once again. He was leaning against his hands, still looking up, as if the question had been directed to the sinking sun. "… Regret what?"

His tone not colored by any particular emotion, he said simply, "Regret your brother leaving. Regret transferring to Rikkai."

She thought of Shimizu, her hands propped on her hips, and of Marui, blowing a bubble. She thought of Sayoko, smiling shyly, and of Yukimura, his eyes dancing. She looked at the boy sitting before her, still as a statue, but with the air of one who would jump to his feet and race away at a moment's notice.

And she said, softly, "No, I don't regret it."

"Okay." His voice was a bit off. "Was just wondering."

Mere weeks ago, she would have plopped down beside him, poked his cheek or tugged on his curls or taken his hand in hers. Now, she lingered uncomfortably, poised to leave but still _there_. "… Do you regret what you did? Telling Yukimura-senpai about Sayoko's wrist?"

"Nah." The word was flip, but his way of speaking earnest. "Having to run suicides until I really do want to commit suicide sucks, sure, but… I made a mistake, and I fixed it. Even if it made everyone else mad at me, it doesn't matter, 'cause now… I guess _I'm _less mad at myself. You know?"

"Yeah." She smiled a little. "Yeah, I know."

* * *

Nothing happened lol whattttt. But next chapter will be the exhibition match? Maybe. In the words of Ursala K. Le Guin, "I talk about the gods, I am an atheist. But I am an artist too, and therefore a liar. Distrust everything I say. I am telling the truth." And there's your pretentious quote for the day.

Disclaimer: I do not own _Prince of Tennis_, or Dance Dance Revolution, or Green River Ordinance's "Brother" (lyrics at the top).


	34. The Only One I Would Take a Shot On

Author's Note: No exhibition match this chapter. I'M SORRY DON'T HURT ME.

* * *

**250 Dark Stars**

_(Could this be out of line to say you're_

_The only one breaking me down like this_

_You're the only one I would take a shot on)_

…

"Could we talk for a second?"

Sayoko stood outside room 3-B, her hands behind her back and her weight shifted so that her left hip curved out. She'd talked her way into being excused from class early, and had made it up to Niou's classroom just as the final bell rang.

He didn't so much as blink at seeing her there. Instead, placing a hand over his heart, he said solemnly, "I would be honored." She shook her head, but a smile was tucked at the corner of her mouth, and, ignoring the brazenly curious stares of the other students, they left the school building.

By some unspoken agreement, they went and sat in a courtyard by the garden, and she tried very hard not to recall her misery or his concern, the kiss he'd pressed to her cheek—

Slouching down low, he said idly, "So, shoot. I have a busy schedule of not-going-to-practice to attend to."

"Well," she said, and laid her palm flat against the stone bench, pressing against the cool, rough crevices. "Well, that's just it. Niou-senpai, skipping practice the way you have… I'm not trying to be self-absorbed, but if it has something to do with me—"

"Of course it's about you." Laughter lurked in his voice. "Who else would it concern?"

She stared at him, lips parted, but her astonishment was met with only a coolly raised brow. _Whatcha gonna do now, sweetheart? _She faltered her way back on-track. "O-… Okay, well—regardless. It's just, you have no intention of quitting. We both know that. So wouldn't it be easier if you just came back?" She made sure her tone was reasonable, not imploring. "Easier for you, and easier for Oniisan…"

A sneer drew his lips back, showed a glint of teeth. He asked, "Sweetie, has it ever occurred to you that _may_be your brother isn't the goddamned saint you make him out to be?"

The question, so casually and hostilely delivered, knocked her into stunned, seething silence, before: "Don't talk about my brother like that," she snapped, and sprang to her feet, stalking away toward the boys' tennis courts.

But Niou was quicker. "Hey," he said, moving to block her path, hands raised, "hey, easy. I didn't mean to upset you." At her look of scoffing disbelief, he amended, quietly, "I'm sorry. All right?" Frowning, he went on, "… You're not the one I'm angry at."

She tried to maintain her frosty expression, but—a sincere apology from Niou Masaharu? An apology directed to _her_? He sensed her weakening resolve, and drew closer, so close that she had to lift her chin to look at him. And… and she couldn't rekindle her anger, because—

Because he _was _sorry, and he was looking at her so keenly, his eyes like pale sea glass, and—and so badly, she did not want to fight with him. Why couldn't the people she loved ever just make things easy? Or was _she _the problem, the one who made things difficult? Not that it mattered. Her fault or theirs… she would always cave.

"Hey," he said again, bending slightly, bringing his face nearer to hers. "What is it?"

Sayoko stepped back, hugged her arms to her chest. She couldn't think when she was that close to him, when she could feel his heat, smell his cool crisp scent. _We can't do this, remember? _"Nothing. It's…" she exhaled. "I shouldn't overreact like that. But it's just… I know. I know my brother's not—perfect."

She could see the hospital room, stark and white and frightening, could hear the whirring of machines, the ones giving her brother oxygen, the ones helping him stay _alive_, and—

She shook her head, tried to shake loose the memories, go away go away, if she ignored them they had to go _away_. She swallowed them down, along with her voice, apparently, for her repeated "I know he's not perfect" came out as a strangled whisper, thin as a shadow, dim as a bruise.

Yet Niou understood all the same. "All right." _His _voice was low and calm. He ran a hand through his hair, and said, finally, "That's… something, at least."

She turned her face away, watched as sunlight spread like honey across previously shaded areas. "Anyway. I just… don't get it. What are you trying to prove, by skipping practice?"

"I'll tell you when you're older." When she rolled her eyes, he smirked, and flicked her forehead, saying nonchalantly, "In any case, it's not like I can just show up again this afternoon, as if nothing happened. I'd only look stupid. I have to hold out at least a little longer, play hard to get."

_You don't _have _to_, she wanted to protest, but he'd made up his mind, and she had to respect that, as well as the fact that she probably couldn't budge him even if she tried. Instead she said, "Well, let me know when you do plan to come back. It should be a dramatic entrance, don't you think? I'll get the marching band to play."

"Yeah?" He smiled faintly. "Will that be before or after the fireworks?"

"I was actually thinking of a laser light show."

"I look forward to it," he drawled, and reached out as if to touch her cheek, only to rub his jaw, instead. "I like the way you think, Yukimura Sayoko."

She just liked the way he was looking at her. Her smile spread like sunlight, spilling across her face.

~x~

The next day, the girls and boys played each other, as Yukimura and Fuyumi had arranged. An faced Yanagi, and lost convincingly. Damn it all to hell. "You played well, An-chan." The thin brown-haired boy shook her hand, his own larger than but not engulfing hers. "Though I'd recommend tossing the ball higher when you serve—you'll get more power on it."

"Thanks, senpai." Withdrawing her hand, she gestured to her slim, compact body. "I feel I have the makings of a power player. Not gonna lie, my forehand could probably break a guy's arm. I'm just saving that for Nationals."

"Very wise," he observed, and though it was hard to tell—his expression was perpetually tranquil, especially with his eyes closed—she suspected he was amused. "I'd like to see that, so long as I'm not on the receiving end."

They sat down on a bench between the courts. Fuyumi seemed to be playing evenly against Sanada, each of them focused and engaged. It was a startling contrast to Marui and Katsuragi's match, which had no intensity at all; Marui was showboating, Shimizu was taunting from the sidelines, and—

"Mikuzu is hardly trying at all," remarked Yanagi, in an odd voice that, she assumed, meant he was storing this bit of knowledge away. It was both more and less disconcerting than the way Inui constantly scribbled in his notebook.

"Yeah," said An slowly, turning her water bottle in her hands. "Yeah, she doesn't seem to care about tennis much, which makes it weird that she's so good."

He did not reply, too busy watching Takamiya get thrashed by Yagyuu. The bespectacled boy wasn't even playing aggressively, was only allowing her to make one unforced error after another. Takamiya's footwork was terrible, and her shots erratic; her expression spoke of deep frustration and discomfiture.

"I don't understand," An murmured. "Takamiya-senpai's way good, but she's falling apart out there. What could be the matter? Maybe she bet against herself—which is actually a good idea. Not against her specifically, but against like, whoever's playing Yukimura-senpai. Though I'm not sure who'd vote _for _Yukimura-senpai's opponent. A stupid person, I guess."

"A stupid person," Yanagi agreed, leaning forward. "And if memory serves," which his tone gave every indication that it did, "Miaka has always had a losing record against male opponents."

Two things occurred to An, the first being that Yanagi very much liked to use people's given names, and the second being that this piece of information made little sense. But she didn't ponder it too long—her stomach was growing queasy. She rubbed it, but her attention was elsewhere.

Kirihara was a set and two games up against Fujimaru, and consolidating the lead with practically every point. The gray-eyed girl was going down like the Titanic, but she kept playing with a fierce, scowling concentration. Kirihara, for his part, neither went easy on her nor tried to crush her. He was actually being fairly respectful, not taunting or boasting, and yet…

"He's dragging the match out," An realized, her eyebrows lifting toward her hairline. Instead of finishing the points as soon as he could, he hit steady rally-shots, moving around the court with unhurried ease. Periodically, though, he would set himself up for a spectacular cross-court forehand, or would nail an overhead, and pause, long enough for everyone to notice.

"Yes, of course." Now she could _tell _Yanagi was amused. "He's showing off for you."

"Oh," said An, nodding, and then: "Wait, what?"

But sure enough, the black-haired boy glanced her way during a changeover, and, upon being caught, only treated her to a challenging look. After considering a number of responses, she smiled a closemouthed smile, and made a V-sign with her fingers.

He turned his face away, taking a long sip of water, but—he might have been grinning. He was a teenage boy; expecting him not to show off would be asking too much. And it wasn't like she didn't get cocky during her own matches.

The last shot was just out of Fujimaru's reach, though she dove for it anyway, getting only skinned knees for her trouble. An brought out the medical kit as the opponents exchanged a brief handshake—Kirihara looking bored, Fujimaru looking like she had swallowed battery acid. This expression of distaste lessened only slightly when An handed her the kit. She muttered something unintelligible, and it didn't sound grateful, so the chestnut-haired girl said, pointedly, "You're welcome."

It seemed Fujimaru would not respond, but finally— "Thank you."

An grinned. "That's what I'm here for. That, and to hand out pamphlets about llamas, but we seem to be out of those."

The other girl frowned, as if she thought she might have been being mocked, but if she said anything, it was lost in Kirihara's query of "What, you didn't bring _me _anything?"

"I looked, but I couldn't find the emergency hair-straightener. Guess you'll just have to make do." She considered tugging on one of his curls, but instead rubbed her abdomen.

"I have awesome hair. Let's be for real here. You can't even joke about my hair." And then, eyeing her: "You're not pregnant, are you?"

Such a question left her with two options: outraged squawking, or sarcasm. "Damn, you're good. And here I thought I was hiding it well. Truth is, I'm due in about two minutes. The contractions have already started. Wanna be my midwife? Since you seem to be such an expert…"

Fujimaru edged away, and Kirihara tucked his racquet under his arm. "I take offense at your tone, madam," he said loftily, "and feel the only course left to me is to call you out. Dart-guns at dawn. Bring your game face, and someone to be your second." And then, after a moment, "Seriously, are you okay?"

"'M fine," she shrugged. Making a big deal over him showing concern for her would only dissuade him from ever doing so again. "My stomach just hurts. It occurs to me now that eating twelve packets of Fun Dip before practice may not have been a wise decision." As if in agreement, her insides lurched unhappily.

"Well, isn't this nice to see—cordiality among the new generation. Brings a tear to my eye. Wouldn't you say, Tsubame-chan?" Marui's airy remark heralded his and Shimizu's appearance; with their arms slung over each other's shoulders, they walked up and grinned at An and Kirihara.

"You guys look like a two-headed monster when you do that," said Kirihara, before Shimizu could reply.

Which seemed to piss her off. "That's enough out of _you_, sparky." He glowered, and she went on primly, "_Anyway_. It really is a heartwarming sight, Bunta-kun, you're right. Also, I just rhymed. Suck it."

"Bucket. At any rate, I'm glad that young people are finally starting to get along." Marui used his free hand to stroke his chin. "Back in our day, we _all _got along. Me and Tsubame-chan, and Niou—kind of—and even that little punk that broke my arm in second grade. We were all pals."

"We skipped arm-in-arm through fields of daisies," recalled Shimizu, "and made friendship-bracelets out of rainbows and kitten fur. No kittens were harmed in the making of those bracelets, of course."

"You two are weird," concluded An and Kirihara together—the former with amusement, the latter with bemusement.

"Anyway," the chestnut-haired girl went on, giggling, "I'm gonna go beat Yanagi-senpai into the ground. Last time I was just kidding, and I let him beat me. But this time I'm gonna play for real. See ya." Without further ado, she jogged back over to Yanagi, who agreed to play another set.

Unfortunately, her nausea had increased, and she fared even worse against him than before. Still, she managed to get a game off him, and as he prepared to serve out the set, she asked, "Yanagi-senpai, what data do you have on me?"

She'd hoped he would rattle off something like _Tachibana An is widely regarded as the coolest person in the Kantou region, with a national status as a boss and an international reputation as having the moves like Jagger_, but instead he asked mildly, "Do you mean data specifically about you, or data that involves you?"

"Data that _involves _me?" She swung and completely missed his serve, then pretended she'd never meant to hit it in the first place. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He was quiet for a moment, standing with his feet spread apart on the baseline, before: "You factor into a good portion of Akaya's stats." At her bewildered look, he recited, "Akaya's expression is forty-eight percent more animated, his voice thirteen percent louder, and his movement twenty-nine percent more dynamic when you are around. Overall, there's a thirty percent increase in his energy."

She didn't know how to react, and his unruffled expression offered no insight. She tried to construct a response, only to cover her mouth with her hands, her racquet falling to the court with a clatter. Oh, God, her stomach was _not _happy.

"An-chan?" Within moments, Yanagi was on her side of the net. "Are you ill?"

"Tachibana's sick? What?" And suddenly Shimizu was there, crowding in to peer at An's face, with Marui not far behind.

Gingerly, she lowered her hands, swallowing hard. Upon determining that she wouldn't projectile-vomit the moment she opened her mouth, An said faintly, "Um. Kinda not feeling so great."

"Don't you _dare _throw up on me," exclaimed Marui, backing away while making the sign against evil. Kirihara, meanwhile, had been drawn by the raised voices, and moved a little closer, his brows knit together, his mouth downturned. Still, he said nothing.

"I _told_ you eating all that Fun Dip was a bad idea." The sub-regulars attracted by the spectacle, boys and girls alike, parted to let Sayoko pass. "Still," she continued thoughtfully, coming to stop before her ailing friend, "if you do throw up, at least it'll be a pretty color."

"Thanks for that," the chestnut-haired girl croaked. She'd eaten both pink and blue Fun Dip, and wondered if they'd blended together in her stomach. She didn't want to find out.

Sayoko, one hand hovering by her mouth, went on, "Oniisan's in the clubhouse. He'll let you lie down on the sofa." Assuredly, she asked Shimizu, "If you don't have any objections?"

"Works for me," the older girl shrugged, blowing wisps of blond out of her face. Dark roots showed at the top of her head. "Feel better, Tachibana. And seriously, don't puke on anyone. It freaks Bunta-kun out."

"It does _not_," came a weak protest from the outskirts of the crowd.

As An followed Sayoko away from the courts, she passed Kirihara, who said frankly, "Your face is like, seven shades of green."

"Yeah, well," she muttered, "_your _face is like seven shades of… of… your mom." His cheek twitched, as if he was biting down to keep from laughing, and he punched her, lightly, in the shoulder. Which shouldn't have made her feel better, but did.

Lying down helped even more. "Are you sure you don't need anything?" asked Yukimura, crouching beside her. The clubhouse was quiet and cool; Sayoko had already left to work on things for the exhibition match. "Water, or aspirin? I could have someone run and get ginger ale…"

"Thank you, Yukimura-senpai, but I'm fine. I think I just need to sleep for," she yawned, "a little… while…" Her eyes began to close, and she felt him smooth her hair, the way he he'd done to Sayoko after carrying her to bed, that first night she'd stayed over.

Sleep came quickly, settling her stomach, calming the restless churning, but it was a light doze, broken by the opening and closing of the door. Had Yukimura gone outside? But no, she heard him shuffling the papers on his desk. "What is it?" His voice was calm, but it had an undercurrent, one her drowsy mind couldn't pinpoint.

"What does it look like?" That was, unmistakably, Niou; she could practically _hear _him shrug.

"So you've deigned to return to practice, then? Well, that's a relief." Whereas sarcasm sharpened most people's voices, Yukimura's only grew more delicate. "So what do you think your punishment should be? As you've made it clear your opinion is irrefutable, particularly in matters that don't concern you."

Very quietly, Niou said, "If it concerns Sayoko getting hurt, it concerns me."

Silence froze the room. An, eyes squeezed shut, curled further into a ball, her chest tight with unwarranted anxiety. And finally came: "Stop looking at me like that, Yukimura. Your sister is important to me. You know that."

"Do I? I know that you take advantage of her—"

"I take _care _of her." Irritation and faint scorn shaded Niou's words. "I've had every opportunity to take advantage of her, but I haven't. And you know that, too, else you wouldn't let me get within a mile of her. So what do you want from me?"

So evenly as to alarm An, Yukimura asked, "What do _you _want from my sister?"

That, it seemed, gave Niou pause. An dared to peek at him. He stood hipshot by the door, one hand in his pocket, the other dangling at his side. His face was expressionless, his gaze downcast. "I want her," he said slowly, "to stand up for herself."

"Against whom?" Yukimura raised his eyebrows, clearly asking, _Against me?_

Niou lifted a shoulder. "Against you, and against me. That's not the point. I want her to—" he stopped, lips set in a thin line. Little as it was, it may have been the most emotion An had ever seen from him.

The blue-eyed boy frowned, the corners of his mouth tight like coiled springs. "… Sayoko loves you." He said it as if he needed to hear the words to fully believe them. "I know you think I don't pay any attention to her, that I'm a horrible brother, but—it's obvious. She loves you," he said again, softly, almost with awe.

"Yes."

Yukimura lifted his chin. "And you have no intention of dating her."

Niou stared right back at him, and said, "No."

Sayoko's brother nodded once, his face shadowed. "All right," he said at length. "There's… not much time left in practice. You can start running tomorrow morning." And that was that. Niou turned and left, shutting the door behind him, and Yukimura sighed, sinking an inch lower in his chair. He asked, "How much of that did you hear?"

An almost pretended to be asleep, but she knew she'd been caught red-handed. Wincing, she sat up. "Only… a little bit."

"A little bit." There was just a touch of amusement at his mouth. He concluded, wryly, "So, the entire conversation."

"Well," she said, apologetically, "well, yeah."

Yukimura laughed dimly, as if it was the only thing left he could do, and came to sit beside her. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, and she pressed close to him, resting her head on his shoulder in a way meant to comfort him more than her. "The good news," she murmured, "is I don't feel like I'm gonna throw up anymore."

"Well," he said, and placed a hand on her head. "That's a relief."

~x~

That Sunday, An realized being slotted for Singles Two meant that, until they reached Nationals, or at least the later rounds of Regionals, she didn't get to play. "Cheer up," Shimizu consoled, as Katsuragi make quick work of Singles Three, "you might get to play sooner than you think." She indicated a group of spectators.

These girls, maybe twenty in all, wore purple spandex dresses, with jackets of the same color and material. They crowded the fence, fingers gripping the chain-links as they watched the match closely. One girl had her phone out, taking either photos or a video.

"They have nicer uniforms than us," An noted. "Damn them. Who are they?"

"Tamagawa High School. They're from like, west of us."

"I thought they were east of us," said Takamiya, from Shimizu's other side. It was only around ten a.m., and already her heart-shaped face was flushed from the heat of the day.

Nakajima Tsukiko, fingering a strand of dyed-pink hair, murmured, "I was under the impression that they're north of us."

"All right, well. Now this is just awkward." Shimizu crossed her arms. "We really need to invest in a data-player. All I know is that Tamagawa usually makes it to Regionals but not Nationals. We've never played them, not while I've been on the team."

"I heard people talking a little earlier," Nakajima began, "and they said Tamagawa has already advanced to the next round. Very quickly, because their opponent had to forfeit Doubles Two. So we'll be playing them next weekend." She was by far the most soft-spoken girl on the team; An had hardly ever talked to her.

"Huh." Shimizu toyed with her silver cross. "Tamagawa… they look sort of intense. Which is impressive, considering they're wearing lavender."

"I'd say it's more of a lilac, actually. Maybe we should gather information on them," Takamiya suggested, sipping from her water bottle. "Of course we'll beat them, but there's no harm in having some insurance, is there?"

"Their uniforms are violet," An decided, because she felt it was important, "and I could totally spy on them. Want me to?"

"Somehow I don't trust you to be discreet." Shimizu turned to the closest sub-regular, who happened to be Kiko. "Hey, d'you wanna follow that team around for a while, and report back?"

The honey-haired girl's eyebrows drew together. "Uh… sure." Without looking at An, she slipped off into the crowd.

"Has it occurred to anyone else," Watanabe broke in dryly, "that we've just dispatched a spy who's wearing the most painfully conspicuous shade of yellow in existence?"

There was a pause. And then, from Shimizu: "Oh, shut up, Chouko."

~x~

Being at Regionals made An once again conscious of being a part Rikkai. Everywhere she went, people whispered and stared; some even pointed. She'd forgotten, in a way, that Rikkai was… well, Rikkai—the champions Rikkai. The invincible Rikkai.

And while she liked that her jersey got her respect, she resented it at the same time, for she hadn't _earned _that respect yet. This was just another case where she was judged by something other than abilities, only now it was her team and not her brother.

But Sayoko disagreed. "You _are _being judged by your abilities," she said simply, scribbling in the notebook that held her plans for the exhibition match. She referred to its contents as the Pentagon papers. "Your abilities got you a starting position on the team, right? People recognize that. They know it means you're good."

An thought about it. "True. I mean, I like to think that part of what made me a regular was my sparkling personality, but—you're right." She hadn't told her friend about the conversation she'd overheard. What could she say, really? And it would feel like a betrayal of Yukimura…

The two girls were watching the boys' matches. Marui and Jackal had cleaned up Doubles Two, and Yanagi and Kirihara were demolishing Doubles One. They made a good pair, with the latter's wild energy and the former's calm control. Recalling what Yanagi had told her about Kirihara's statistics, she blushed. Were those stats still accurate, even after their breakup?

The team they were playing now was a solid level above those the boys had faced in the past, but still Rikkai's win could not even be debated. Kirihara ran and hit and smashed, smiling a small, lazy smile.

"Kirihara seems to be having fun."

An looked up. There stood Momoshiro, regarding all the Rikkai students with some amount of wariness, though he grinned down at her. "Hey, Tachibana's little sister. Long time no see."

"I told you to stop _calling _me that." The too-familiar moniker reignited too-familiar irritation—but, what the hell. She got up, hugged him briefly. "Momo, this is my friend Yukimura Sayoko. Sayoko, this is Momoshiro Takeshi." It was clear what team he played for.

"_Yukimura _Sayoko? Wow." Momo considered her with wide eyes, and if they strayed from her face, it was only for a second. "I mean, you look like your brother, but—wow. Nice to meet you."

She only treated him to the glitter-smile, not the dazzle-smile, but Momo still seemed pretty dazzled. "Nice to meet you, too." Rising from her seat, she said to An, "I'll go see if my brother needs anything."

Once she was gone, Momo said lowly, "You wanna walk a little ways away? Not to be a total wimp, but I'm getting more death-glares than I know what to do with." Most of the sub-regulars, and a good number of the students in the stands, were regarding him as what he was—an enemy in their midst.

But that enemy was her friend, and she glared right back at them. "Yeah, that's fine. It is kind of your fault, though—that jersey you're wearing isn't exactly the height of fashion around here."

"Says the girl in mustard-yellow," he teased, as they moved away from the bleachers, toward the wooded area, though they could still see the court. "Really, it's… it's weird. For you to wear that jacket."

"It is," she acknowledged, only to frown. "I mean, it was, but—it does feel normal now."

He put his arms behind his head. "So they're treating you okay, those guys?"

"Yes, they are," she sighed. "They're really not bad people, Momo." Sure, she had reservations about Niou… except—_"If it concerns Sayoko getting hurt, it concerns me." _She didn't know what to think, anymore.

"… I'm sure they can be nice off the courts," he said cautiously, "but the way they play tennis… it hasn't changed. Kirihara's stopped beating people to a bloody pulp, yeah, but otherwise… they're the same guys they always were, An."

"I _know _that," she snapped. It felt like he was pulling the same stunt as Kamio, accusing her of being buddy-buddy with those who had hurt her brother. Of putting her brother's name to shame. "God, it's not like they've indoctrinated me into some cult. They haven't brainwashed me. I _know _who they are."

Didn't she?

"Okay," he said, in his go-along-to-get-along tone, "okay. So long as you know. I should get back, our match is about to start, but—you wanna grab sushi with us afterwards? At Taka-san's?"

She looked away. "That… that's probably not a great idea." She could still be friends with Momo and the other boys at Seigaku… but she really was part of Rikkai now, and—and there had to be a limit. A line had to be drawn. Right?

He went quiet for a moment, before shrugging. "All right, then. Some other time. And we'll all be at that exhibition match—should be fun, huh? So I'll see ya around, Tachibana's little sister." He jogged off, ignoring her shout of "My name is _An_!"

Rolling her eyes, she returned to the match just as the umpire called out a 6 - 0, 6 - 0 win. The stands erupted into applause, the cheering squad started up, and—Kirihara turned away from the boy he was shaking hands with, turned his head and found An. She knew, then, that he'd seen her go off with Momoshiro, but—he didn't look angry, exactly.

Just like he was… waiting. Like he would let her make the first move.

So she smiled at him, and after a beat, he smiled back.

* * *

**tsukinoyume11** commented that Niou has sociopathic tendencies (and for those whose brains equate sociopaths to psychopaths, like mine, let me say that it's to do with antisocial personality disorder). And it fits - unconcern for the feelings of others, disregard for social norms, _deception_. I certainly didn't have "sociopath" in mind while writing him, but… Let me just talk for a sec.

I absolutely disagree with fandom's interpretation of Niou Masaharu. I do not see him as some free-wheeling prankster, calling Marui "fatty" and, I dunno, putting tacks on people's chairs. Konomi consistently draws him as standing apart from his teammates, as watching quietly.

He's obviously very smart, and he _understands _people really well, which enables him to deceive and manipulate them. He studies them, can find them interesting… but does he _like _many people? Doubt it. He definitely has a mean streak - just look at that match against the Golden Pair.

In this way, he's similar to Yagyuu. They are the only ones who don't use Akaya's given name. They're both very aggressive, and they both conceal this behind very composed appearances (granted, composed in entirely different ways). Niou is the type, I think, to have only a handful of real relationships, but those few are very close._  
_

So is he a sociopath? I can't make that call. He's just… _Niou_.

Disclaimer: I do not own _Prince of Tennis_, or Acceptance's "So Contagious" (lyrics at the top).


	35. Let Me Be the One You Run to

Author's Note: So the exhibition match isn't in this chapter, either. Except I'm kidding.

* * *

**250 Dark Stars**

_(Let me be the one you run to for the rest of your life_

_I'm still learning how to love you_

_You are the only one that's worth the fight)_

_…_

"What do you think you're doing?"

The team—and they were a team, Sayoko knew, for though they wore street clothes, they were teenage boys that looked like trained athletes and moved as a unit—paused, and turned. Some seemed irritated by her interruption, while others regarded her with predatory amusement.

One boy just smiled; his hand was on the doorknob to the Rikkai boys' tennis team clubhouse. He said to her, "Hey there. What's your name?"

She raised her eyebrows, and wished she were wearing something other than dark jeans and a pale pink top with butterfly sleeves. _Note to self: Dress for altercations with spies from other schools. Look into a ninja outfit. Or shin-guards. _"My name is Yukimura Sayoko, and that's my brother's clubhouse you're trying to break into."

It was the day of the exhibition match, and she'd been excused from class to direct the preparations. Upon coming to check that everything was as it should be at the tennis center—the soccer team had been far too quiet recently, so she was expecting them to pull some sort of stunt—she'd found this lot.

"You're in charge of security, are you? That's cute," laughed another boy. He had dark eyes and a darker mien; his laughter was at once musical and disquieting.

But the other boy kept smiling. His hand falling away from the door, he approached her, the others trailing after him, this boy that was obviously their captain. It struck her, then, that there were eight of them, all tall and strong, and that she was one average-sized girl who got winded walking up to the third floor of the school building.

_Damn it._

"It's nice to meet you, Sayoko-chan," said the captain. Her mouth nearly fell open at his audacity. "I'm Ishikawa Ren. You don't have to worry, we're not spies—we just wanted to look around. Explore. We're bored, you see."

"Take up knitting." She lifted her chin, facing him directly. He had a strong jaw, Ishikawa did, with defined cheekbones and black hair swept back from a widow's peak. He could have been handsome, had she not already decided to hate him. "It's only two o'clock. You shouldn't have even been let onto the campus yet."

"We snuck in," the dark boy piped up, in a bright tone that sounded wrong, grating. He grinned. "What are you going to do about it?" He cocked his head. "Sa-yo-ko-chan."

Though her hands tightened into white-knuckled fists, she cast him a bored, contemptuous glance. "Who are you, exactly?"

He moved forward, the other boys parting to let him pass, until he stood even nearer to her than his captain, far nearer than Sayoko felt comfortable with, though she made sure this did not manifest in her expression. "Takada Shouta." His gaze was heavy on her, and his voice edged when he said, "And you're Yukimura Seiichi's baby sister."

She wanted to back away from him. She tossed her hair. "Yes, that's been established. Congratulations on demonstrating the memory capacity of an earthworm. Your mother must be proud."

Ducking down, he said softly in her ear, "Little girls should have better manners, especially when they're all alone among strangers." He leaned back just far enough to meet her eyes; his own, she saw now, were a deep, deep green, murky like a lagoon.

And as sweat broke out on her palms, Sayoko found herself listening for a low drawling voice, one that to most people was daunting but to her meant protection, meant she could back up and breathe easy and let Niou take care of things for her. But the voice never came—Niou was, of course, in class.

Goddamned compulsory education.

She bit her lip. Realistically, what could these boys do to her? And why would they _want _to hurt her? She was just being fearful, weak. _Get it together, Yukimura. _She made herself say evenly, "For someone who tried to break into another team's clubhouse to speak of manners… seems hypocritical, don't you think?"

"We weren't trying to break in," Ishikawa interrupted, now seeming faintly irritated. "Really, Sayoko-chan. What could be in there that we'd want? I imagine there's only racquets and shoes and the like." And there were those things, she knew.

But there were also training schedules and lineup sheets, and thick files on each starter. She could have saved them the trouble of looking through all that, though—could have told them that Yagyuu was quicker to move left than right, that Kirihara played sloppily when distracted, that adjusting his hat was a telltale sign that Sanada was growing weary.

Instead she said coolly, "I think it's time for you to leave."

"Or what?" Takada smirked. He was still too close to her.

Or she would stab them with the silver chopsticks holding her hair back in a bun, and run screaming for the school security guard. Or whimper and curl up in the fetal position. Whichever seemed the best option at the time.

But Ishikawa spread his hands. "Have it your way, little Yukimura. We'll leave." A corner of his mouth quirked. "Until we come back, of course. Your brother's playing Atobe, huh? Exhibition or not, it should be a good match. See you there." He walked away then, toward the school gates, the others following. It almost seemed too easy—

And then Takada shoulder-checked her roughly enough to knock her down, had he not snatched her wrist and steadied her. It was her right wrist, the one Kirihara had injured, and she nearly dislocated her shoulder, so fiercely did she fight to pull free. "What the hell is your _problem_?" she demanded.

He released her, after a pause that indicated it was his choice to do so, and that there was no way she could have made him. "Sorry," he said, in that bright, terribly disconcerting tone. "Didn't see you there."

Sayoko glared at him, all her outrage and antipathy condensing and freezing, freezing, finding release, and she was meanly pleased to see that her anger struck him, that he took a half-step back, his lips parting, his face losing color. Except—except then he recovered, and stepped forward, staring down at her, and—

She froze. His eyes were wild as Kirihara's and cold as Niou's, and they pinned her down, seemed to cut her and bleed her of her strength, her will, leaving her hollow and helpless, paralyzed, she couldn't move oh God she couldn't move.

Was this how her brother's opponents felt?

Takada Shouta smiled darkly. "Be seeing you, Sayoko-chan." He strolled off, whistling a jaunty, jarring tune.

She wasn't sure how long she stood there, trembling. She wanted to run crying to her brother, to throw herself into his arms and have him hold her and hush her and assure her that he would make these awful boys pay.

Instead she swallowed hard, wiped her hands on her jeans, and went to supervise the setting up of the ticket booth.

~x~

"Holy _crap_," said An a few hours later. "All of Kantou is here, and probably all of Belgium as well…"

"Why Belgium?" Kirihara wanted to know, split-stepping to avoid a little boy running by. The match hadn't even started, and already Rikkai's grounds were packed, full of people and vendors. Yellow and black streamers hung from every surface.

"I just get a Belgian feel from it," she shrugged, and would have asked if he ever got that feeling, but his attention was occupied. The little boy had stopped and turned, his eyes round. Pointing a sticky finger at Kirihara, he exclaimed:

"_You!_" And then he launched into a string of gibberish and giggles.

"… Me," Kirihara agreed, brows drawn together. "Uh, and you are…?"

A young woman with frizzy hair and nervous fluttering hands appeared, scooping the boy into her arms. "I'm so sorry," she winced, "Kyo-chan is just a big fan of tennis, that's all—he recognized your jersey. Good luck today." With a strained, apologetic smile, she hurried the child away.

_Here it comes, _thought An, and Kirihara did not disappoint. Turning to her, he crowed, "Guess who's famous even among the under-three crowd? _This _kid. Jealous, aren't you? Admit it, go on. Acceptance is the first step."

"That lady might have been lying," she pointed out, trying to maintain a straight face. "Maybe the little boy just likes people with curly hair, 'cause it makes him think of sheep. Or maybe he recognized you as being voted 'Most likely to end up in prison' back in junior high. That sort of reputation gets around, you know."

"I can't believe Marui-senpai told you about that," he grumbled, before pausing thoughtfully. "Not that I'm not proud of it, of course."

She offered a sunny smile. "I was voted 'Most likely to be adorable.' Or maybe it was 'Most likely to be awesome'…" She shrugged, and adjusted the strap of her eyelet lace sundress—most of the students had changed once classes had ended. "Regardless, I'm living up to both."

He snorted, which only made her smile grow. They were more or less friends again, despite the strain and awkwardness that lingered after their breakup. For fear of damaging or jinxing the fragile new relationship, she hadn't really broached the subject, and Kirihara wasn't the sort to bring it up.

Looking past her, he smirked. "The diva has entered the building. His entourage and backup-dancers have, anyway, which means His Royal Pompousness can't be far behind." An turned. Descending upon the ticket booth were legions and legions of Hyotei students, identifiable by their self-important manner and their uniforms.

She shook her head. Showing school spirit was all well and good, but there was only so much uniform-wearing she could take. At least her dress was a soft yellow. She elbowed him gently. "You can't talk when it comes to ego, you know?"

"Sure I can. I can do whatever I want." He bumped her with his hip. "And who are _you _to talk about ego, anyway, Miss Adorably Awesome?"

"I also respond to Miss Awesomely Adorable," she replied promptly. "In case you ever need to put up Missing or Wanted posters for me." Just then, she noticed Sayoko passing by, and would have congratulated her on a job well done, had the other girl not been deep in what looked like an important discussion with the student council adviser.

They were probably talking about revenue and liability and security procedures, though she supposed they could have been talking about bunnies. Sayoko took bunnies seriously.

"Sorry," said An to Kirihara at length, taking in his expression—a mixture of amusement and annoyance. "Could you say that again?"

"No." He crossed his arms. "If you don't have the common courtesy to listen when I talk to you, you don't deserve to hear what I have to say. And what I said, a minute ago? It was awesome. Really mind-blowing stuff. Would have changed your life."

"Are you sure you didn't just mix up 'mind-blowing' with 'mind-numbing'? Common mistake, that."

"Shut up, Tachibana. _You're _a common mistake." On that clever note, he used his fist to bonk her on the head, before wading into the oncoming flood of Hyotei students. She chose to decide he was looking to make new friends, not to pick a fight. Smiling to herself, she got in line at the stand selling carnations.

For a small sum of money, you could buy a flower for one of either team's players, and attach a short personal note. Sayoko had, she knew, gotten the idea from a school play, though she'd also mentioned (and rejected) the notion of tossing the flowers onto the court, as if it were a figure-skating competition.

An had proposed just having it be a figure-skating exhibition, or at least tennis on ice, but the mahogany-haired girl had, with great reluctance, turned down that idea as well.

"We're sold out," said the freckle-faced girl working the stand, once An made it to the front. "There's been a huge demand. But Yukimura-senpai already sent someone to get more, so you can still pay and write the notes, and they'll get attached to flowers and delivered with all the rest."

Hearing "Yukimura-senpai" made An think of _her_ Yukimura-senpai, Yukimura Seiichi. But the younger girl clearly meant Sayoko. She handed over money for five flowers—Marui, Jackal, Yanagi, Kirihara, and Yukimura were playing in the exhibition—and, after a moment, enough for two more.

Taking a marker and seven slips of construction paper, she moved aside to write her notes. On four of them she put a smiley-face, and wrote _Good luck, senpai! _On the fifth she scrawled _THIS IS RIKKAI DAI_, and sketched Kirihara waving a sword and making a last stand against Persians wearing Hyotei uniforms.

The sixth one simply got _Don't embarrass yourself, Atobe_, and on the last one she drew a bunny holding a banner that read _Raise your hand if you're awesome! Raise it__! Seriously, raise it. Work with me, here._

After signing her name on all of them, she handed the first six to the girl, but held up the seventh. "Can you make sure Yukimura Sayoko gets this one?"

"Sure," the younger girl smiled, setting it aside. "I'm sure that'll make Yukimura-senpai happy."

A voice came from behind. "What's this, An-chan? You're not getting _me _a flower?"

"Actually, Atobe-kun," she said, turning to face him, "I did get you one."

His eyebrows lifted a fraction of an inch. "I see," he replied, motioning absently for the Hyotei students swarming him to back up. An must have been too absorbed in her writing and drawing to pick up on the fanfare of his arrival. "I look forward to receiving it. Does the note express your undying love for me?"

She grinned. "_Some_thing like that."

He smiled with half of his mouth, and swept around, beckoning for her. "Take a walk with me, if you would, An-chan."

It would have been entertaining to leave him hanging, but he'd worded the directive politely enough, and over the years she'd grown more tolerant of his posturing (largely because he had, to some degree, toned down the pomp and pretense). In fact, she thought their relationship rather good; they were friends, in a way, she and Atobe.

To Ootori Choutarou she gave a small wave—he was kind and polite, she'd found, if rather dull—before trailing after Atobe, who navigated Rikkai's grounds as if he owned them. Yet it quickly became apparent that innate confidence could not quite take the place of true familiarity. Minutes later, she asked dryly, "How did you know I like circles? Walking in them is just so fun."

The crowds of stalls and people were some distance away. With great dignity, Atobe responded, "I know most everything. Had you really not figured that out by now? No matter." He gestured for her to pass him. "Ladies first. You may lead the way to one of your school's charming, tree-lined paths."

Stifling giggles, she did just that. The path she chose was mostly empty, and so they walked in silence for a short while, before: "I heard about your relationship with that Kirihara Akaya." Atobe's tone was smooth, faintly amused.

She clasped her hands behind her back. "It _is _lovely weather we're having today, isn't it."

He was, of course, undeterred. "I heard that it ended quickly, and badly." He eyed her. "Really, An-chan. Did you honestly not see that coming?"

"What I don't see is that it's any of your business," she shot back.

"Hot-tempered as always," he observed. "I suppose that, at least, hasn't changed." Plucking a leaf from an overhanging branch, he rubbed it between his fingers, inspected it. "What else have you been up to, then? Aside from tempestuous love affairs."

She told him about classes, and her brother, and the Yukimura siblings. It was easy to talk to Atobe—not because he wouldn't judge her, but precisely because he would. He would judge with a critical, balanced mindset, without becoming overly involved. Lastly, she told him about tennis.

Letting the leaf drift to the ground, he put a hand up to his face, steepling his fingers against his cheek. "Our girls' team will give yours a run for your money," he noted. "Not that that will come as a surprise."

She raised her eyebrows. "Wanna make a bet? When my team beats your team, you have to…" She scrambled. "Do something to be determined at a later date. And if we lose, I—"

"—will go on a date with me," he finished for her, smirking.

She scoffed. "Really? That's the best you could come up with?"

"This from the girl who couldn't even come up with a penalty." He placed his hands in his pockets, his expression appraising. "And if you'll recall, I never did get that date you promised me."

"Hard to forget when you bring it up like, every time we see each other." Still, she shrugged. "Fine. It's a gentlemen's agreement." She paused. "With a lady. A gentleman's agreement with a lady. Actually, a lady's agreement with a gentleman."

"If you insist." They shook on it, and as they did, An really did reminisce on her eighth-grade year. She'd flirted with most everyone she'd met, stringing along Kamio, pushing Momoshiro's buttons. Though Atobe's arrogance had riled her, she'd been secretly pleased by his attention.

Now… she'd learned that she wasn't the prettiest girl in all Japan, and that toying with people's emotions had been petty and mean, not fun and exciting.

Maturity was an odd thing. It didn't announce itself, didn't declare its intentions or track its own progress. Instead it came quietly, a visitor that left no trail and made no sound, until one day you found it was a permanent resident, and that the person you were before was only a memory.

~x~

Sayoko would have sighed, but could not jeopardize the smile she'd fixed in place. Someone hadn't correctly marked the handicapped-accessible routes and seating, which had resulted in a time-wasting hassle, and some rightfully angry spectators.

"Note to self," she said into the tape-recorder she'd taken to carrying around, "create a newsletter about the threat posed by people who don't know how to tape up signs. Also, invest in jet-packs. They are the transportation of the future, and do not require the assistance of said people, for no signs are necessary. Except perhaps in skywriting."

Clicking the recorder off, she placed it in her pocket and checked her phone. Opening remarks would be made soon, after which the Marui/Jackal vs. Ootori/Shishido match would start. She began walking toward the tennis courts—and stopped cold.

For, among the crowds, she'd spotted—Niou's sister? She hadn't even known he _had _a sister, but he had to be related to this girl. He _had _to be. They had the same cast of features, the same narrow mouth. That mouth parted when the young woman noticed Sayoko. She blinked once, and said, "It's you."

Sayoko stared at her. "… What do you mean?"

Niou's sister stepped toward her. She was good-looking, but very slender, with hips only a breath wider than a boy's. "The girl from the photo. Masaharu keeps it in a desk drawer—I was rifling through his things earlier," she admitted without a shred of embarrassment. "I'm his sister, by the way, but I can tell you've already gathered that."

She extended a hand; her wrist was sparrow-slim. She had a casual manner, but her eyes, like her brother's, seemed to miss nothing. "My name is Niou Asuka. Who are you to Masaharu?"

Sayoko's hand went limp in the older girl's grip. "I… well… it's not that…"

At her fumbling, Asuka only tilted her head, a piece of glossy black hair falling across her face. "I see. Is he playing today? My brother."

Eyebrows drawn together, Sayoko replied, "No, he didn't want to participate." He'd balked at being a show-pony, which she'd anticipated. Luckily, people like Marui lived for such opportunities.

"That's a pity. Would have liked to see him play." She smiled, a swift darting thing. "Not that he would have liked to see me, of course."

"Don't be so quick to assume that." The boy in question appeared, brushing by his sister to stand in front of Sayoko, fingering the chopsticks in her hair. For a moment it seemed he would pull them out, but instead he turned partway toward Asuka, and went on, "Really, it warms my heart when you make a show of caring."

"Masaharu," she sighed.

"Neesan," he mocked. The set of his shoulders did not bode well. "I'm serious. You've moved me deeply. We should fly over to Switzerland, grab Kaito, and all go out for ice cream together. A family bonding thing." Asuka said nothing, her expression wry and sad, but—her sadness only seemed to bore him.

He said idly, "Let's go, Sayoko," and walked away without a backwards glance.

In response to Sayoko's look of bewilderment, Asuka smiled thinly, and explained, "I haven't been the best sister to Masaharu."

Said boy continued on, but slowly enough for the mahogany-haired girl to catch up. She bit her nails. "I… I should go. It was—well, it was nice meeting you." Without waiting for a reply, she trotted off after Niou, slipping through and skirting around people until she reached his side. "Niou-senpai…?"

He didn't look at her when he asked, "Who upset you?"

She frowned. "What are you talking about?" She knew what he was _avoiding _talking about: his sister.

"Something's bothering you." He shot her a sidelong glance as he moved out of the main paths of foot-traffic, stopping between two stands, one selling lemonade and the other Rikkai Dai banners. Raking a sweep of bleached hair back from his face, he continued, "Something happened."

(She could feel Takada's hand on her wrist, could see his smile, sin-sick and sin-sweet, and she was scared so scared get him away from her get him _away_—)

Sayoko averted her eyes. "It's nothing. I've only just realized that one day I'm going to die, and that it'll probably be without having ever flown a Gundam or learned to speak Finnish. But it's not a big deal. I'll walk it off."

"Exactly who do you think you're kidding, sweetie?" He lifted her chin with a single finger, and said levelly, "Just tell me. I can't help you if you don't tell me what the problem is."

She batted his hand away. "Thank you for your concern," she said stiffly, "but I didn't ask for your help, and there isn't a problem. Anyway, I'm not supposed to need you anymore, remember? I should get over to the courts." She went to join the people flowing toward the tennis center. "The match will start soon, and—"

"Wait," he said, without urgency or sternness, but she stopped immediately regardless. "Guess who." Looking past her, he moved forward, so that she could feel the heat of him at her back, and pointed out someone in the crowd. It was Tsujiai, the boy with whom the whole tennis-soccer feud had begun.

She made a face. "Is this a game where we pick out all the things that make me want to throw up?" She pointed. "Look, a pregnant sixteen-year-old. Oh, and there's a dog wearing a sweater. Your turn."

He only smirked. "Wanna see something cool?" Before she could answer, he called, "Hey, Tsujiai!"

The named boy stopped dead in his tracks, turning slowly; his arm was slung around the waist of a cute dark-haired girl. Upon seeing Niou, he blanched, and ducked away, disappearing into the crowd and leaving the girl standing there, baffled.

Niou laughed. It was a sharp, shining sound, like and unlike Takada's laughter.

Sayoko hugged her arms to her chest. "What did you do to him, Niou-senpai?"

He lifted a shoulder in the laziest, most nonchalant shrug she'd ever seen. "They—he and his team—had concocted some plan to make a little mischief. I… dissuaded them."

"Oh," she said, not sure how to feel. "I… well, I saw that coming. I mean, they haven't done anything in so long, so I figured they must be planning something big. I had everything covered—plans for if they tampered with the equipment, or tried to interrupt the match, or to drop an anvil on my head…"

"So you were ready to react. I was proactive."

"I didn't ask you to be, though," she muttered, far more petulantly than she would have liked. "I didn't ask you to do this for me."

Shifting his weight to one side, he drawled, "Don't flatter yourself. They're out to get the tennis team too, remember? I didn't do it for you."

She went red from her collarbones to her hairline, and stammered, "I—I didn't mean to be… I wasn't trying to…"

"Oh, cut it out." His eyes gleamed, and his smile was faint like his sister's when he said, "Sweetheart. Come on. Obviously I did it for you." When she wouldn't raise her head—she was too humiliated, even though her assumption _had _been correct—he bent until their faces were level, and said simply, "Sa-yo-ko."

_That _got her over her mortification. "Don't do that," she snapped. "Drag my name out. It's…" _What are you going to do about it? Sa-yo-ko-chan. _"Just… don't." She kicked the ground. "Please."

After a moment, he drew back, and placed his hands in this pockets. Evenly, he asked, "When will you tell me who upset you?"

She swallowed, and looked him square in the eye. "When will you tell me what happened with you and your sister?"

His expression went flat. There was a warning in the way he held himself, the way he tilted his chin. But— "Touché, sweetie." He nudged her out from between the stands, toward the courts. His hand was a light presence between her shoulder blades. She shivered, remembering his kisses along her jaw, down her throat.

As they walked, he noted, "Not that I won't figure it out myself."

She didn't doubt it.

* * *

Part one of a probable two chapters about the exhibition match. Since, you know, the matches haven't actually started yet. In the next chapter, we'll see some tennis… old friends and a new rival will appear… Hashimoto may show up… So yeah.

In more important news, if anyone has constructive criticism for me, please don't hold back. ^_^ (I mean, I'll probably cry, but no big deal. Shit happens.)

Disclaimer: I do not own _Prince of Tennis_, or Green River Ordinance's "Learning" (lyrics at the top).


	36. Melt the Sugar Under a Meteor Shower

Author's Note: _Important stuff_ at the bottom - read it if you are literate. If you're not... that's a bummer, man. Walk it off.

* * *

**250 Dark Stars**

_(__We got m__iles and miles to go_

_You and me_

_A million miles to go)_

_..._

"All right, folks," said Shimizu, high up in the umpire's chair, "we've got a great match to start off. In this corner," she waved to Rikkai's bench, "weighing in at four hundred pounds, judging by Marui's waistline—"

"_Hey!_"

"—we have Rikkai Dai's favorite duo, the Marui-Jackal pair! One has a shaved head, the other spectacularly obnoxious hair… so it works out. Or so they tell themselves."

"I'm going to kill her," muttered Marui, his eyes narrowed but his mouth twitching upward, "I am going to beat her to death with a tennis racquet. And who is _she _to talk about obnoxious hair, anyway? For God's sake." Jackal gave only a put-upon sigh, and the two stepped onto the court.

Immediately, applause thundered from the stands as the marching band started up and the cheering squad launched into the time-honored "Go, go, Rikkai Dai! Let's go, let's go, Rikkai Dai!" chant. This greatly improved Marui's mood; he waved and preened, and even Jackal smiled and nodded in acknowledgment.

"And in this corner," Shimizu went on, holding her microphone-headset closer to her lips, "we have what I assume, until told otherwise, is Hyotei's favorite duo—the Shishido-Ootori pair!" Said doubles team walked out, and the Hyotei crowd errupted—support for the two schools was nearly a dead-even split.

"And now they will spin a racquet to determine who serves first…" They did so. "And now they will shake hands…" They did so. "And now they will spin around three times…" Ootori got halfway through a spin before Shishido stopped him, muttering in his ear. The Hyotei second-year turned red, and many spectators laughed—some good-naturedly, others not.

An was among the former. Sayoko had offered her the umpire/commentator role, saying she wanted someone who knew tennis _and_ could cultivate a light atmosphere, but An had recommended Shimizu. She'd thought sitting with her friends would be more fun, but…

Kirihara was thinking along the same lines. "That could have been you up there," he pointed out, leaning back against his hands, which were propped on the bleacher-seat behind them. Though the stands were otherwise full, leaving people sitting and standing on the grass, the Rikkai regulars still got their own section.

"You would miss me, though." She'd gotten to be with the regulars by virtue of being Yukimura's favorite. "Wouldn't he, Yagyuu-senpai?"

"Undoubtedly," murmured the bespectacled boy to her right, without looking up from his novel. Yukimura sat on the coach's bench, Yanagi and Sanada standing behind him. Niou sat somewhat apart, his head tilted, his eyes hooded low.

"Told you," she said smugly to Kirihara. "And Yagyuu-senpai wouldn't lie." The black-haired boy just snorted, and kicked her lightly in the ankle.

Hyotei had won the call, and Ootori's Scud Serve rocketed right past Marui, who didn't react in time to even stick his racquet out. "Wow," Shimizu deadpanned. "Wow. That's just embarrassing. Fifteen-love." Marui shook his fist at her, which the crowd loved.

The match continued in that vein. Shimizu poked fun, Marui responded theatrically. She picked on him the most, but Jackal and even Hyotei got in on it. When she criticized a volley of Shishido's, he threw his cap at her and stalked off the court, only to be coaxed back out when the audience chanted "The winner will be Hyotei! The winner will be Shishido!"

Even without the commentary, that this was an exhibition match was clear in how it was played—the showy techniques, the exaggerated dashes for the ball. Both teams gave the spectators their money's worth, making it dramatic, exciting. They stayed on serve until it was six-five.

"Here's where it gets real," Shimizu declared. She'd kept Shishido's hat, wearing it at a jaunty tilt. "If Hyotei can take this game, they'll win it all—admiration, glory, a pat on the back. Maybe even a complimentary key-chain. But don't lose hope, Rikkai, our boys are still in it. You can tell by the way Marui is chewing his gum. There's determination in every smack of his lips."

"We'll see who gets smacked," he called up to her, at which point she threatened to give him a red card and throw him out of the game.

Jackal served down the T, and Ootori netted his return. "Fifteen-love," Shimizu announced. "Way to carry the team, Jackal, way to carry the team." He saluted her, and served again, this time out wide. Shishido sprinted for it, but Marui intercepted his shot; the ball rolled along the net, dropping into Hyotei's court. "Thirty-love… way to not suck, Marui. Keep it up."

Marui, who'd been bowing to his adoring fans, pantomimed hurling his racquet at her. Unfortunately for him and his partner, Shishido and Ootori regrouped, winning the next three points. "Thirty-forty. It all comes down to this." Shimizu leaned forward. "Who will crack under the pressure…?"

"Five hundred yen says Marui-senpai does a backflip, rallies to win the game, and drags the tie-breaker out, just so he can show off some more," An grinned.

"Same amount says he goes down in flames," Kirihara retorted. They shook on it.

Jackal served once more, perhaps his best yet, but Shishido returned with a spectacular forehand down the line. He and Jackal rallied, neither giving an inch, until one of Shishido's shots fell short. Marui dove for it, _somersaulted_, and aimed the ball for the net-post—

Only to have it hit at the wrong angle, and roll back toward him.

"And that's a seven-five victory for Hyotei," Shimizu sighed. "It's a sad day here at the Rikkai Dai tennis center, folks. If you would all join me in booing this disgrace of a doubles pair off the court…" Marui, on his knees, made a despairing gesture toward the sky, as if asking why God had forsaken him so. He was clearly enjoying himself.

Kirihara laughed, loudly enough to be heard over Hyotei's near-deafening cheers. "You can always count on good old Marui-senpai to fail at life."

"_Damn _it, Marui-senpai," An grumbled. "I was sure he'd make this last as long as possible."

"I told him not to." This came from Sayoko, who'd been appearing periodically to check the progress of the match, before leaving to handle one crisis or another. Now she stood by her brother, but angled herself toward An as she explained, "We're on a schedule. Each match has to clock in under sixty-five minutes, though we'll make an exception for Oniisan's."

"I'm honored, Sayoko," her brother said wryly. "Truly honored."

She smiled, and might have replied, but her phone beeped, and after reading the text, she scowled. "_Son_ of a—" Her brother raised his eyebrows. "—seahorse," she finished weakly. "Son of a seahorse. Um, I gotta go. 'Kay, bye." She started to run off, before stopping, visibly composing herself, and striding away purposefully.

Once she was out of earshot, Yukimura turned to Yagyuu, who was already setting aside his book. "Could you go along and check up on her? Just to ascertain that everything is all right."

"Of course," Yagyuu replied, standing and straightening his collar. "I will tell you though, Yukimura-kun, that your sister has done remarkably well in organizing this endeavor. Even as student council president, I've hardly had to involve myself at all."

"We talking about Sayoko-chan?" Marui inquired. He and Jackal had come over, toweling themselves off, though they'd barely broken a sweat. "The kid did good, Yukimura. To be honest, I didn't think she had all this," he gestured to the exhibition match at large, "in her."

"I taught her everything she knows," An boasted. "About fundrasing, and organizing events, and… dolphins, probably."

"The revenue from the flower sales alone could plausibly cover at least half the expense of a dance," noted Yanagi, inclining his head toward the heaps of red and white carnations on the bench where Marui and Jackal's bags rested. Sanada grunted an affirmative, or else he cleared his throat. Hard to tell.

Marui brightened, scooping his flowers into his arms and taking Yagyuu's vacated seat. "I love when people give me stuff. I mean, it'd be better if these were edible, but still."

"I _am _hungry," Jackal admitted, sitting down beside Kirihara and bonking him on the head. "Akaya, run and buy us some food. I want a parfait."

"Me too," Marui chimed in. "And a lemonade. Also, ice cream. And—"

"—an ambulance for when you enter a sugar-coma?" Kirihara suggested snidely. He stood up, but crossed his arms. "I don't see why I have to go get all this stuff. A senpai is supposed to treat a kouhai."

"Don't even start with that," Jackal snorted. "Unless you want to pick up your tab for all those arcade games."

"… Fair enough. Since I'm taking orders, Yukimura-buchou, you want anything? Yanagi-senpai, Sanada-fukubuchou? Niou-senp—huh, he left. Whatever, I would have just spit in his food anyway. Tachibana?"

"I'll go with you." She stood, stretching her arms above her head and loving the sunshine on her bare shoulders. "So that we'll have someone strong to carry all this stuff."

"Oh yeah?" Kirihara smirked. "Wanna compare biceps?" He made as if to roll up his sleeve.

She waved this away. "That's okay. I wouldn't want to embarrass you." Once they knew what everyone wanted, they set out for the rows of vendors. There was a twenty-minute break between matches; Yanagi and Kirihara were up next, against Oshitari and Mukahi.

As they got in line, An frowned. "Hey, shouldn't you be warming up?"

He shrugged. "I stretched and stuff while Marui-senpai and Jackal-senpai were playing, and anyway, it's only doubles, and it's only an exhibition match. It _is _a warm-up." He brushed a finger under his nose. "Though I'd rather warm up than wait in line. Why didn't we just make a non-regular do this?"

"You can't just make people go get you food because they're second-string and you're first," she scoffed.

"It's survival of the fittest." He stuck his chin out. "The fittest people, the ones best at tennis, get to make those below them do stuff." He paused. "Unless that stuff means getting a bunch of junk food for the fittest to eat, 'cause after a while we wouldn't be the fittest anymore. We'd be fat."

"So it's best this way," she reasoned. "By walking over here, you worked off some of the calories you're going to consume."

They kept talking in the same idle, easygoing manner, and though it had been a long line, before they knew it they'd reached the front. Having forgotten what everyone wanted, they just bought ice cream and water. Kirihara eyed the tray of sundaes skeptically. "These are already melting—I'm gonna run 'em over. My match starts in like, two minutes, anyway. You okay to walk over by yourself?"

She blew hair out of her face. "Are you worried about me getting lost, or mugged? I don't think you'd be much help in either situation."

"Just want to make sure you get there in time to see me _destroy _Hyotei." With a final grin, he loped off with the ice cream, disappearing among the crowds. Her arms full of water bottles, An made her way more cautiously, though she stopped to check out a face-painting station.

It was there, as she weighed the pros and cons of getting a lion over a turtle, that someone said, "Tachibana An. Right?"

Behind her stood a girl wearing Hyotei's uniform. "That's me," An confirmed. "Can I help you with something? If Atobe-kun sent you to to remind me about the bet, I swear to God—"

"No, that's not it." The girl shook her head, and though she seemed somewhat curious about the bet, she didn't ask. "I just thought I'd introduce myself. I'm Nomura Sana, the captain of Hyotei's girls' team."

An blinked. "… Oh." When making the bet with Atobe, she'd envisioned the team in question. In her mind, the girls' captain had been tall and striking, with a big personality. Sort of a female Atobe. It wasn't logical—after all, Yukimura and Fuyumi were hardly anything alike—but it was what she'd presumed.

Nomura literally fell short of those expectations. She was maybe Sayoko's height, with broad shoulders, an acne-scarred face, and mousy brown hair yanked back in a ponytail. "It's nice to meet you," said An carefully. "I'd shake your hand, but…" She rearranged the water bottles, which seemed to be getting heavier by the minute.

"That's all right. I should head back to my team, and you to yours. If you don't mind terribly, please tell Fuyumi…" Nomura paused, and smiled. It was a smile An hadn't a clue how to interpret. "Tell her that we're looking forward to playing Rikkai soon."

~x~

An's next encounter was even more stilted. On a hill close enough to see the court, but far enough away that no one else was there, sat Hashimoto Yuuka, all alone, her knees drawn to her chest. She wore a white dress and a pensive expression; she was a lonesome sight to behold, like something out of a silent movie.

An paused, hesitated… and walked over. "Hey," she said uncomfortably, coming to stand before the other girl. "Hashimoto-san. Um, hi. I just—I guess I just saw you, and…"

Hashimoto's face registered no emotion, certainly none of her typical cheer. "Akaya-kun's match has already started," she said at length. "You'd better get down there."

An winced, and sat down with a _thump_. No way could she stand around holding those water bottles anymore. "Listen," she said. "Listen. I wanted to apologize."

Flatly, the brunette said, "You tried to apologize before."

"Well," said An, taking a breath, "well, yeah. That's what I want to apologize for. That, and… and for everything. I acted really badly." She frowned. "That's not right. It wasn't acting, it was me. An awful side of me, but still me. I _behaved _badly. So… I'm sorry." Her voice dipped. "I really am."

Hashimoto grabbed a handful of grass, tugged halfheartedly. "Has Akaya-kun told you why we broke up?" When the other girl replied in the negative, she chewed her lip. "Maybe he should be the one to tell you, I don't know, but—it's not even interesting. He was focused on tennis, and I was focused on…" Her eyebrows drew together.

"I wasn't really focused on anything. I don't—I'm not like you, or Akaya-kun. I don't have these huge goals, or these big dreams. I just…" She shrugged. "I just coast. That's how I am. But the point is, I wasn't focused on Akaya-kun. So we drifted apart, and I didn't think much of it." Her mouth twisted in a grin or a grimace. "And then _you _showed up.

"You transferred here, and all of a sudden you two are like, best friends, and you're looking at each other all the time with this, this," she fumbled, "this _intensity_, this depth of emotion, and I'm thinking, I want that. I'm thinking… that that should be me, with Akaya-kun. Not you." She spread her hands helplessly.

"And I do… I did… feel something for him. Something stronger for him than for everyone else. But I knew, I knew all along that it couldn't even compare to what you felt for him." She rubbed the back of her neck, said softly, "And I knew that he didn't really care about me one way or the other anymore.

"So… I made a mistake too. I shouldn't have tried to force things the way I did. It was desperate, and stupid, and I'm sorry."

They sat there for a moment, each sorry, and watched Kirihara play. Then the moment passed, and Hashimoto stood, brushing herself off. "I should go home," she said quietly. "I have a paper to write, and…" She glanced once more toward the court, and smiled. "And I don't really belong here. See you around, Tachibana-san."

"Bye…"

Once the other girl had gone, An exhaled slowly, and rose, gathering all the water bottles again. The conversation had made her feel both better and guiltier. Hashimoto was a decent, likable person who hadn't deserved to be hurt the way she had. They really could have been friends…

She returned to the tennis center in time to see Kirihara advancing on the umpire's chair, waving his racquet threateningly, and to hear Shimizu's taunt of "Come up here and _make _me, pansy-boy."

"I feel like I missed something," the chestnut-haired girl remarked.

"Sure have," Jackal nodded. "You've been gone for nearly forty minutes."

"We were about to send out a search party," Marui agreed. "Luckily, a guy came around selling lemonade, so at least you don't have our dehydration-induced deaths hanging over your head. I will still have a water, though." He plucked one from her grasp.

Kirihara kept yelling at Shimizu, and finally Yukimura said, "Akaya. Calm down. Just because this is an exhibition match does not mean you can behave in such a manner. Have some respect for yourself and your school." He meant what he said, yet An suspected he was amused.

"But Yukimura-bu_chou_," Kirihara grumbled, "it was out_. _She called it in, and it was _out_."

"It doesn't matter if it was out by a mile," Sanada barked. "The call has been made. Take your position and stop embarrassing yourself and our entire team." Kirihara threw his arms in the air and complied, and Sanada, pulling his hat low, muttered, "Though it _was _clearly out."

"Don't let Akaya know that you agree," Yukimura murmured. An could hear the smile in his voice. "Or we'll never hear the end of it."

She approached them. "Do you guys want water? Yukimura-senpai, Sanada-senpai? Sorry it took so long—I was attacked." That was enough to make Yukimura turn his head, so she held up her hands. "Kidding, I'm kidding. Sorry. Bad joke. I'll work on my material."

"Please do." He accepted a water. "Knock-knock jokes would cause me less anxiety."

She grinned. "Knock knock."

"Who's there?"

An paused, brow furrowed. "… I haven't actually gotten that far yet. Gimme a minute." Yukimura smiled, and they watched as, on the court, Mukahi flipped and Oshitari sauntered and Kirihara swaggered and the crowd went wild. Yanagi played conservatively, which made the others' antics seem all the more outrageous.

It ended with a six-four victory for Rikkai. The results were probably rigged, as no one was playing to win. This did not, however, deter people from cheering as if they'd won the Davis Cup. The cheerleaders, prancing around in uniforms that An did not want to admit were cute, led the audience in chanting, "Black and yellow, black and yellow, here we go! Black and yellow, black and yellow, here we go! Go, go, Rikkai Dai!"

Kirihara tucked his racquet under his arm and laughed, though the sound was lost in the chanting. When he came over, An put her hand up. His eyes alight, he went to high-five her, but she withdrew her hand at the last moment, smiling impishly, as if it'd been a terribly clever prank. "Gotcha."

He smirked. "Oh, did you." Too quickly for her to react, he wrapped an arm around her neck, bringing her down in a headlock. Mockery lent a tune to his voice as he crowed, "Gotcha."

"I protest." She tried to wriggle free. "Yukimura-senpai!" she called, stamping her foot. "Yukimura-senpai, make him let me go."

"Sorry, An." The older boy didn't sound sorry at all. "You had that coming."

Three minutes of alternate bargaining, pleading, and berating later, Kirihara released her, and, after some angry mumbling about the indignity of it all, she trotted over to the umpire's chair. "Shimizu-fukubuchou?"

The blond girl took out her earbuds. "What's up, Tachibana." Her mp3 player was still on, and faintly, An could hear: _"And I know you're dressed up_…_ hey kid, you'll never live this down_…_"_

"Do you know where Fuyumi-buchou is?"

"No, but…" Shimizu put her microphone-headset back on, and said very clearly, "Fuyumi Akari, please report to the umpire's chair. Fuyumi Akari, to the umpire's chair, please." Switching it off, she said, "God, I have _got _to get me one of these. Think you can get Yukimura's little sister to let me keep it?"

"I don't know if Sayoko has that authority," An began, only to have Fuyumi appear.

She wore a green tank top and cargo shorts; it was the first time An had seen her out of uniform. Dryly, she asked, "Was that really necessary, Shimizu? Really?"

"Who am I to judge?" Her green-gray eyes were round. "Aside from the umpire, I mean. Anyway, Tachibana needs you for something."

"A girl from Hyotei came up to me earlier," reported An. "The captain of their girls' team. Her name was… was…"

"Nomura Sana," said Fuyumi and Shimizu together.

"Yeah, her. Anyway, all she said was that I should tell you that they're—her and her team, I guess—looking forward to playing us soon. And she smiled, and it was… I don't know. She wasn't really intimidating, just…"

"Off-setting," Fuyumi supplied. "A bit off-setting." She shared a speaking look with Shimizu. Neither seemed particularly troubled, and at length she went on, "Well, thank you for telling me."

"Did you notice Tamagawa's here, too?" Shimizu leaned forward. "Those girls who finished their match super fast? With the lavender dresses?"

"Violet."

"Whatever, Tachibana. Anyway, they're here, and even though we never did really get much information on them, I think…" Shimizu slid the silver cross back and forth across its chain around her neck, and gave a wolfish grin. "I think we may be in for an interesting match this weekend."

~x~

When Sayoko returned to the tennis center, she scanned the masses of spectators, seeking out any problems—terrorists, rampaging bears, old ladies that had fallen and couldn't up. What she saw wasn't technically a _problem_, but was something she'd gladly have done without.

On the grass was sprawled a huge group of teenagers, and at the center of that group were the boys from earlier. The dark boy, Takada Shouta, sat with his captain to his left and a pretty girl to his right, and when he noticed Sayoko, he smiled, a slow bright smile that made her want to run and hide. He waggled his fingers at her.

She ducked her head so that her hair spilled forward—she'd removed the chopsticks for expressly this purpose—and retreated to the Rikkai regulars' section of bleachers. Being so near her brother and Niou gave her the confidence to shout at those boys, those damn kids, to get off her lawn, but—

Well.

Once she was sure both her brother and Niou were otherwise occupied—the former checking his strings, the latter typing something into his phone—she sidled up to Yanagi. "Yanagi-senpai…?"

He offered a small smile. "Yes?"

"Do you see those boys over there, on the grass?" He turned his head, and she had to bite down on her lip to keep from telling him not to look. "Do you know what team that is?"

Someone whose eyes were seemingly closed should not have been able to pin her with an even, measured look. "Why do you ask?"

_One of them wants to murder me. _"Uh—it's stupid." She made herself laugh self-consciously. "I just thought one of them was kind of cute, that's all. So… who are they?"

He was silent for a moment, before: "I believe they are from Kirigaoka High School, in Chubu," he said slowly, naming the region adjacent to Kantou. "I recognize their captain, Ishikawa Ren. We defeated them at Nationals two years ago, though they didn't make it that far this past year."

"Oh," she said, edging away, "all right. Thank you." She slipped past him before he could further question her motives, moving along the fence until she stood alone. _Kirigaoka High School… _It wasn't much information to work with, but it was enough._  
_

As it always did when she wasn't specifically looking elsewhere, her gaze slid to Niou. He'd put away his phone, and, taking note of her attention, offered a half-smile. She smiled back, blushing lightly, before it occurred to her to scan the audience again.

There, on the highest row of bleachers, sat Niou's sister, Asuka, her legs crossed at the ankles and another young woman beside her. That girl leaned over to say something, and Asuka nodded. Sayoko was too far away to see their expressions, but they both seemed to be looking at Niou.

She glanced at him as well. _Why do you have so much disdain for your sister? Why didn't she even know you aren't playing today? _

_Why don't you ever tell me anything?  
_

"If you ignore me any longer, you'll hurt my feelings, Yukimura-kun."

Sayoko turned. Atobe had stepped onto the court, and come to stand opposite her, the fence between them. The Hyotei students had started chanting, but he made a dismissive _Not yet, not yet _gesture without looking away from the mahogany-haired girl.

"… Hi," she said slowly, aware of the many eyes on them. "When the schedule listed you as playing Yukimura, that meant my brother, not me. He's over there." She pointed, but Atobe didn't budge. "Over there, as in, not here. Here is where I am. Over there is where you should be." He only smirked, so she offered to draw him a diagram.

"Yes, yes, I understand, dear little Yukimura-kun." He was holding himself differently than he had before, Atobe was. The few times she'd seen him, he'd always been proud, regal… but now it was as if every motion, every expression was meant to convey his total superiority. Gone was the bit of softness he'd shown her.

She inspected her short, ragged nails. "Well, what do you want, then?"

"Only to congratulate you on a job well done," he replied, looking down at her appraisingly. "You needn't be so hostile."

He was right, damn him. Before when she'd worked with him, she'd been largely on her best behavior. Now he'd glimpsed what lurked beneath the manners and mannerisms she'd copied off her brother, seen the real her, the girl that was insensitive and self-absorbed.

As secret identities went, it was a poor one: more obvious than Hannah Montana, and not half so glamorous. Sayoko could sing about as well as a potato.

But damn if she couldn't fake a good smile, and she did just that. "I apologize, Atobe-san. It was kind of you to think of me." Yet when his smirk just widened, she deflated. "All right. Seriously?" She placed a hand on her hip. "The match can begin any moment now," she said archly, "if you feel you've made enough of a spectacle."

He appeared delighted. "Not quite yet." When she rolled her eyes, turning to go and sit beside An, he said calmly, "Yukimura-kun."

She looked at him, eyebrows raised, and he leaned over and kissed her cheek.

Withdrawing, he murmured, "_Now _I've made enough of a spectacle," and, without another word, turned and strode toward the baseline, his racquet in his hand and a broad, self-satisfied smile on his face.

Over the loudspeaker system, An's vice-captain observed, "Wow. Now this is just awkward."

Sayoko could hear the awed chatter, could feel the glares of hundreds of girls. Everyone was watching, waiting for her response. Taking the tape-recorder from her pocket, she switched it on, and muttered, "Note to self: fuck my life."

Then, with a toss of her hair, she waltzed back toward the others, all of whom were staring at her. An was wide-eyed, while Marui seemed about to break into hysterical laughter. She couldn't bear to check her brother's reaction. Head held high, she said coolly, "I don't want to talk about it," and sat down by herself, arms crossed.

Times like this made her honestly consider running away to a Lithuanian convent.

And yet… she couldn't help but laugh a little, if only at Atobe's audacity and élan.

~x~

"Atobe really does love to put on a show." This comment, surprisingly, came from Sanada. He bore just a hint of a smile, and An doubted he was referring to the way the other boy was now conducting Hyotei's cheers.

An tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "Kissing the little sister of the guy he's about to play… only Atobe. Only Atobe." She glanced down the row to where Sayoko sat alone, pointedly ignoring the entire world. Then she looked the other way, toward Niou. "I can't read Niou-senpai at all, but… if anything, he seems amused. Not jealous at all."

Beside her, Yagyuu laughed softly. "Certainly not." At the chestnut-haired girl's inquisitive expression, he said slowly, "Believe me when I say that Niou-kun could not be more confident of Sayoko-chan's feelings for him." On that note, he reopened his novel, and said not a word more.

Which was fine, as Hyotei's cheering and chanting quickly rose to a deafening level; An could have screamed at the top of her lungs and gone unheard, even by those right beside her. Which made it a great time to murder somebody, actually. She'd have to remember that the next time someone ticked her off.

It would have been quite unwise, conversely, to commit a crime when Yukimura chose to enter the court. He walked with an unstudied grace to where Atobe stood waiting at the net. The place was dead-silent, yet _alive_ with a crackling electricity, a current originating with the blue-eyed boy and running through everyone watching.

The two clasped hands, and spoke to each other, so lowly that though no one else made a sound, their conversation could not be heard. If Yukimura was angry that Atobe had made a move on his sister, it didn't show. He doubtlessly understood the other boy had done it for drama's sake, but that didn't mean he _approved_.

"Uh." Shimizu cleared her throat. "So, yeah. The Yukimura vs. Atobe match is about to take place. I mean, we've got Yukimura, and we've got Atobe, so… yeah. Here we go, I guess."

An held her breath as Atobe tossed the ball in the air. It hung there for a moment, like an apple waiting to be picked, and then he struck it with his racquet, sent it hurtling toward the service-box, and—it began. It began, and time could be marked only by the score.

One-love: Atobe couldn't be beaten.

One-all: Yukimura was clearly the superior player.

Two-one: Atobe would crush him.

Two-all: Yukimura was completely in control.

The match seemed to go on forever; it seemed to last only a second. Shimizu spoke only to call the score, and even then she would sometimes fumble, too caught up in what she was watching. Every step, every shot appeared choreographed, inevitable.

When the ball left the racquet strings, you knew it would go over the net, would be a clear winner, unreturnable—and then it would be returned. They didn't pull elaborate stunts, but they weren't playing seriously, either—there was no struggle, no competitive spirit.

They just _played_, until suddenly they stopped, and it took An several moments to fathom why.

"That's…" Shimizu sounded dazed. "That's—it. It's a… seven-five victory for Yukimura."

There was silence; then, applause, beginning slowly, building, building, becoming a crash of sound. The band played and the cheerleaders jumped and Yukimura smiled, but Atobe did not appear put-out at all. He laughed, and slung an arm around Yukimura's neck, saying something in his ear, before pulling away and basking in the adoration of the Hyotei crowd.

"I want to be able to play like that," said Kirihara and An together, the former with grim determination, the latter with amazement. After sharing a grin with him, she got up and went to Yukimura, who had one hand on his sister's shoulder, and held a water bottle with the other.

"Can you show me how to do that?" An exclaimed. Excitement flushed her cheeks.

He took a measured sip. "How to drink water?"

"Yukimura-sen_pai_. That serve, and that backhand, and then that sort of—sort of—" She tried to demonstrate, swinging an imaginary racquet.

"Of course," he laughed, absently smoothing Sayoko's hair. Her eyes shone as she gazed up at him. "Only not today, all right? I'm a little tired." Glancing behind him, he added deftly, "Also, I believe there's someone who'd like to speak to you."

For Atobe was walking over, a towel around his neck and a carnation in his hand. An moved along the fence to meet him. He held up the flower, and she saw that it was the one she'd given him, with the note that read _Don't embarrass yourself, Atobe. _"Did I?" he asked, eyebrows raised, and handed her the flower.

She accepted it, twirled it in her hands. He'd removed the note, presumably to keep it. "Embarrass yourself? Nah." She grinned. "You did all right. Even though you lost, but I'm guessing that was your punishment for kissing Sayoko. You're lucky Yukimura-senpai didn't strangle you."

"He's a reasonable person." Atobe cocked his head. A single bead of sweat rolled down his face, clinging to his jawline. "Why? Are you jealous?"

She giggled. "Jealous that you kissed Sayoko? It was pretty smart—you definitely got the crowd worked up. I heard people behind me speculating that you two share a forbidden love or whatever, and that this whole exhibition match was just so you could try to win her hand. Everyone was really into it."

"Oh? And what about you?" Before she could assure him that she didn't care, he reached out and cupped the back of her neck, drawing her close enough for him to brush her cheek with his lips. She blushed, and he released her. "There," he said. A soft, pleased triumph echoed in his voice and expression. "Now it's even."

* * *

Guess who graduated outside during a thunderstorm? This kid. Guess who was wearing a white gown and a white dress? This kid._ Guess how awesome it was on a scale of awesome to awesome?_ It was awesome.

In more important news, I request and value constructive criticism. Please respect other people's opinions. I've had to delete two reviews, and we won't even talk about the private messages I've gotten. Not cool, bros. Not cool.

This story sucks in many ways, it's true. I could name twenty right off the bat, but I'd start bawling halfway through. We'll leave it at my coldblooded abuse of figurative language, semi-colons, and dashes.

Whatever else bothers you, _please tell me_. I can't promise I'll be able to fix it, but I solemnly swear that I (am up to no good) will do my very best to improve. Reviews guide this story. _Thank you very much to everyone who has reviewed. _Every single one of you.

(Fantastic penname, by the way, **Mwew**. Reminds me of both a cat and a newt.)

In most important news, Maria Sharapova won the French Open! And Rafael Nadal will win it tomorrow. Everybody cheer for Rafa!

So. If anyone read all that, props.

_06/11/12 Edit_: OHMYGOD RAFA WON. Not that there was any doubt. But. Also:

Five Reasons Why I Deleted _Six Feet Under the Stars_:  
A Hastily Dashed-Off List, by **Neon Genesis  
****  
**Reason One. Blech.  
Reason Two. An's characterization. Period.  
Reason Three. Everybody else's characterization. Period.  
Reason Four. Writing about inter-character relationships is more interesting than one girl's angst.  
Reason Five. Literally nothing happened. It was well-paced nothingness, but nothingness none the less.

(Oh my God guys look I can countttttttt)

Disclaimer: I do not own _Prince of_ _Tennis_, or Green River Ordinance's "Crawling" (lyrics at the top), or Fall Out Boy's "A Little Less Sixteen Candles, A Little More Touch Me" (lyrics in the middle).


	37. And You Can't Find a Quiet Mile

Author's Note: See note at bottom.

* * *

**250 Dark Stars**

_(When your bridge is burned and you can't find a quiet mile_**  
**

_Lost and deserted, leave it behind_

_I'll come running)_

...

"It's obviously a love triangle," one girl said the next morning, in a knowing tone that most people would reserve for discussing the finer points of a doctoral thesis.

"Definitely, and Yukimura-san will win," another girl concurred, citing "She's prettier" as her irrefutable evidence.

The evidence was not refuted, but the argument was. "Tachibana-chan plays tennis, though, just like Atobe-san," a girl to the left of the first reasoned. "And she's way nicer. Plus, I have a friend who goes to Hyotei, and she says Atobe-san likes strong-willed girls."

"Yukimura-san is strong-willed too," frowned the second girl. "I mean, I guess she had that breakdown earlier in the year, with Tsujiai, but still. She came back swinging, don't you think? No matter how _mortifying _the whole thing must have been for her. I mean, God, can you imagine being humiliated like that? In front of _everyone_..."

_I will harm you, _thought Sayoko, twitching as she stood unnoticed in the doorway of 2-B. _I will find what you fear most and torment you with it, until, driven out of your mind with terror, you flee the country and live out the rest of your miserable life farming lima beans in Guatemala. You will _suffer_, and as you suffer you will rue this day.  
_

All that stopped her from marching over and verbalizing the threat was the understanding that it would backfire. Trying to tamp down on a rumor only ensured its spread—she knew that for certain. So, she had two options: she could sulk, or she could suck it up and roll with it.

She thought, _What the hell._

"Hi, everyone," she said brightly, strolling over and taking a seat. "I couldn't help but overhear you talking about Atobe-kun. He's taking me to Africa this summer. Isn't that _so _romantic? Civil wars, poisonous plants, and man-eating animals notwithstanding."

They hastily agreed this was the height of romance. Except— "Um, Yukimura-san," ventured the first girl, "what about Tachibana-chan…? It seems like she has sort of a thing with Atobe-san, too."

"Oh," said Sayoko airily, "yes, that. Cute, isn't it? I don't let it bother me. What Atobe-kun and I have is special. An unbreakable bond, if you will," she continued, careful to maintain a straight face. "We just have so much in common, you know? Like," she scrambled, "we both have great hair. Right? Right."

The third girl was clearly troubled, and perhaps a little suspicious. "And Tachibana-chan's okay with it as well?"

"Well," Sayoko paused, "she doesn't know the extent of our love. Mine and Atobe-kun's, that is. He and I have started looking into buying a pet together. A wombat, naturally."

"_Really_? A wombat?"

"Absolutely," replied Sayoko. "You know how people think it's cool to own lion cubs? Wombats are the same. They're very fashionable in Paris, though they haven't caught on with the rest of the world yet. But they'll become a phenomenon in Tokyo soon enough, you'll see." Spouting nonsense really was as fun as An made it seem.

The first two girls began chattering excitedly, about Sayoko's supposed relationship with Atobe and about the emergence of wombats as trendy companions. If you acted like you knew what you were talking about, treated it like common knowledge, people would, more often than not, believe you.

She'd learned that from her brother, who hated admitting to not knowing something, and whom she'd more than once caught fabricating some fact or figure. She also had her suspicions about Yanagi's data. By _her _calculations, his were ninety-two percent accurate, eight percent bullshit.

Unfortunately, the third girl's face made it clear that she didn't buy the foolishness about wombats, and perhaps not even what the mahogany-haired girl had invented about herself and Atobe. Eyes dancing, Sayoko offered her a small, secret smile, and, blinking, the other girl returned it shyly.

She'd have to let An know to corroborate their supposed love triangle with Atobe. If they were going to be the subject of a rumor, they might as well have fun with it.

~x~

"Today," Fuyumi began, scanning her clipboard, "Watanabe and Nakajima will start off with volley drills, Takamiya and Fujimaru will serve three baskets of balls, Tachibana will—"

"Actually," interrupted Katsuragi lightly, "I'd like to challenge Tachibana for the Singles Two seed today. If that's acceptable." A murmur went through the assembled regulars and sub-regulars. An shifted her weight from foot to foot, but otherwise maintained her outward composure.

Slowly, Fuyumi looked up, holding Katsuragi's gaze. "That's fine," she said at length. "You can use court three. Miaka, if you'd call lines?"

"Of course," Takamiya replied, her auburn hair in two short braids. She went to the assigned court, and Katsuragi, grabbing some tennis balls, followed.

"Mikuzu's got a look in her eye," said Shimizu quietly to An. "Play hard, Tachibana." As if she wouldn't have anyway.

An only nodded, and walked onto the court, setting her stuff down on a bench. In her bag she had two Babolats and a Yonex. One Babolat was strung for power, the other racquets for control and spin. She chose the Babolat strung for control. Katsuragi won the call, and An assumed her position on the baseline.

_I beat you soundly last time, _she thought, balancing on the tips of her toes as Katsuragi tossed the ball, _and I'll do it again._

But the ball, after landing in the service-box, spun wildly toward An's face. Instinctively, she ducked out of the way, letting it rocket past her. An ace.

"Fifteen-love," Takamiya announced. She had a hand up to her face, blocking the sun. Her long legs were folded under her.

Katsuragi utilized her kick serve again, and An netted her return. On the third try, the ball glanced off her racquet, sailing wide of the line. Only when Katsuragi served for the game did An finally get a return in the court, but the older girl caught her wrong-footed, and won the short rally that followed.

"Love-one. Tachibana to serve."

_It's all right, _An told herself, walking to the other side of the court, _it's all right, it's all good. So her serve's gotten better, so what. I'll hold mine. It's all good._

But how had Katsuragi improved so much in so short a period of time?

An did hold her serve, although the game went to deuce. Katsuragi won her next service game within two minutes, and the pattern continued: Katsuragi holding her serve easily, An fighting to keep hers. The set went to a tiebreaker, which Katsuragi won with some neat little volleys.

"One-love, love-all." Takamiya's voice was perfectly neutral.

_It's okay, it's okay, it's all right. _An tried to swallow past the lump in her throat. But the tiebreaker had been stressful, had shaken her. Unfortunately, it had bolstered Katsuragi's confidence by leaps and bounds. She crashed the net after serving, crowded it, intimidated An into lobbing so that she could smash.

She broke An's service game to go up two-love.

_For God's sake, Tachibana, is this really all you've got? You've beaten her before, you're better than her, how could this be happening? This is pathetic. Katsuragi can't be this much better than me. She just can't. But what if she is? No, she can't be. Think. Think, think, _think_. What are her weaknesses?_

She was fairly tall, Katsuragi was, which meant she covered the net well. But a low volley. A low volley would be difficult for her. An aimed for the older girl's feet, anticipated which way she would move, tracked the chatter-steps that she took.

It was something—she held the rest of her service games—but it wasn't enough. Katsuragi went on to take the set.

An had lost. _Again. _What was going_ on_? This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Not at all. You beat someone, and then you move on and beat someone else. Move forward, not back. Certainly don't get _pushed _back.

"Katsuragi wins, seven-six, six-three." Takamiya climbed partway down the chair, then let herself drop, her braids bouncing as she landed lightly.

"Good game, Tachibana," Katsuragi grinned, gripping An's hand loosely. Her light green eyes glowed, but otherwise she gave little indication of taking her win all that seriously.

An tried so hard to smile. So damned hard. "Likewise, senpai. Thank you for playing me." _Thanks for stealing the singles spot I worked and worked and worked for. Really, thanks so much for that._

Although Katsuragi, despite her nonchalance, had probably felt something in that vein when An had won it from her in the first place.

~x~

That Sunday, An arrived at the tournament center determined to _thrash _her opponent. The good news about being back in Singles Three was that she was guaranteed to play. Still, it was hardly any consolation, and she remained mostly silent while the other girls talked and laughed, tapping her foot and taking her hair in and out of a ponytail.

"Okay," said Shimizu, once everyone had arrived, "as of now, our lineup is this. Nakajima as a reserve. Fujimaru and Watanabe in Doubles Two. Fuyumi and Takamiya in Doubles One. Tachibana," her gaze flitted up every so briefly, "in Singles Three. Katsuragi in Singles Two, and me in Singles One. Everybody cool?"

Everybody, it seemed, was cool. "Fuyumi, O Wise and Benevolent Captain," the blond girl went on solemnly, "do you have any fiery, impassioned speeches to share with us? Something about reaching for the stars, maybe."

"Mrfmgle," said Fuyumi, largely asleep.

"Inspiring. Well, kids, I'm not gonna lie," Shimizu said matter-of-factly. "We are Rikkai. We_ are_ the stars, and these girls today will be reaching for us. Will they succeed?"

"Hell no," Watanabe replied, her dark eyes glazed with boredom. Other girls murmured in assent.

"Fantastic. I'll leave it at that, because I already sound like a sappy idiot. Meeting adjourned. Assume offensive maneuver twelve while I go register us." Papers tucked under her arm, she marched away with such energy and purpose that people turned to look. An suspected she was hurrying away because she was embarrassed by even that tiny display of genuine sentiment.

"What's offensive maneuver twelve?" Fujimaru asked around a mouthful of bagel. "It isn't anything stupid, is it?"

"It can't be stupid if it doesn't exist." Watanabe inspected her sleek hair for split ends. "Have you honestly not realized by now that she makes up everything she says as she goes along?" In response, Fujimaru muttered something unintelligible, and the older girl wrinkled her fine-boned nose.

An wasn't in the mood for banter or idle chatter, but she didn't exactly want to be alone, either. So when everyone dispersed, she was left with three options: tagging along with soft-spoken Nakajima, mostly unconscious Fuyumi, or mild, sweet-tempered Takamiya. She felt most comfortable with the latter.

So she accompanied her to the court they'd be playing on, where they had Fuyumi sit down on the coach's bench, propping her up with racquet bags on either side of her. She mumbled her thanks.

"She's almost as bad as Hyotei's Akutagawa-kun," An said in astonishment as they walked away, leaving some sub-regulars to make sure no one kidnapped their captain.

"Only in the morning." Takamiya was the only one on the team that Fuyumi seemed particularly close to, and this would have been a good time for An to learn more about her captain. She still didn't really feel like talking, though, so she let the opportunity pass.

But two Rikkai regulars, as ever, drew attention. Takamiya attracted the lion's share; she was one half of the nation's best female doubles pair. Surely she noticed the gawking, but her expression remained peaceful. She seemed the sort to enjoy nature, and indeed led An along the more secluded, shaded paths.

Only they were not entirely secluded. Some college-age guys were hanging out among the trees, and they went quiet as the girls went by. An spared them an absent smile, and got some smiles back, but again the spotlight was on older, taller Takamiya.

She cringed and sped up.

Once they'd left the group behind, An frowned, and considered touching the other girl's arm, but didn't. "Are you okay, senpai?"

"Yeah." Takamiya managed a smile. "Yeah, I just—it's just that, I don't know, boys. I'm not very comfortable around boys. That's all." She fanned herself, but heat wasn't what reddened her cheeks.

"Why?" An was genuinely curious. She recalled Takamiya being flustered around guys, and Yanagi's comment that she had a losing record when playing those of the opposite gender. But Takamiya was tall and slim, almost like a model, with a heart-shaped face and warm brown eyes. What did she have to worry about?

When the older girl didn't immediately respond, An tried to put her at ease. "Boys are just boys," she said lightly. Just predictable, uncomplicated boys, around whom she'd always felt most comfortable. "No big deal. You know?"

Takamiya glanced at her, and smiled. It was a wry, almost sardonic smile, more suited to Watanabe than to her. She said, "You've been thin and pretty your whole life. Haven't you?"

An was lost as to how to reply.

Takamiya's smile shrank, and softened. "I thought so." She gave a small shrug of her shoulders and continued on, her expression peaceful once more, but An, inwardly kicking herself, followed at a distance, her own shoulders slumped.

~x~

Hardly anyone showed up to support their opponents. Tamagawa's team was small, only twenty or thirty members, and its fanbase smaller still. "Their swim team is the best in the country," Shimizu noted, having opened a search engine on her smartphone. "So I guess all the other sports get the short end of the stick."

"Seems a little unfair, us playing them," An said, glancing around at the crowds of people in yellow, and the tiny clusters of those in violet. "Like we should pick on someone our own size instead. Then again, our swim team isn't great, so when they compete against each other, it probably evens out."

"Yeah, I guess," Shimizu shrugged, stowing her phone away. "Not that it matters. We'll win regardless of who we play, regardless of how good they are or how big their team. Don't get soft on me now, Tachibana. No mercy."

"No mercy," An echoed.

The vice-captain raised her eyebrows. "Once more with feeling," she directed, but didn't wait to be heeded, instead leading the way to line up at the net. The chestnut-haired girl took her place.

The girl across from her, Tamagawa's number three, was unremarkable in appearance, save for a hard expression and hair that would have fallen past her waist, had it not been bound in a thick braid. Her hand, when they shook, was square and calloused, and she withdrew it from An's near immediately.

"The Kantou Quarterfinals match between number one seed Rikkai Dai High School and unseeded Tamagawa High School will now begin," the umpired announced dully. "We will start with Doubles Two."

Watanabe and Fujimaru served first. Their opponents were very good, but they were far better. Watanabe did not make mistakes, and Fujimaru never gave up. Though their relationship off the court was fraught with tension and barbed comments, they played together seamlessly, setting each other up without hand signals.

They won six-two, six-two in an hour and a half, enough time for Fuyumi to become alert. When she and Takamiya took to the court, more spectators appeared, scouts, reporters, and Rikkai's boys' team among them.

"Seems we've gotten here just in time," Yukimura observed, at the crest of an incoming wave of yellow-clad boys. He murmured a greeting to the girls' team at large, then to Watanabe in particular, before smiling at An. Despite her gray mood, she smiled back wholeheartedly.

On some deep-seated, fundamental level, his presence, just _having _him there, convinced her that everything would be all right.

"Working hard or hardly working?" Marui inquired, moving forward to ruffle her hair. She was beginning to believe his parents wouldn't let him have a dog, and he had to take out his petting impulses on someone.

Even with the reassurance of Yukimura's companionship, she was too troubled—by her loss, by possibly offending Takamiya, and by something else, a nameless, hollow ache—to come up with anything cheerful or funny to say. "You guys are all here pretty early."

"Yes," agreed Yukimura, in a delicate tone that should have crumbled under the weight of the disapproval it conveyed, "so that we can see a real doubles pair at work. Some of us are getting lazy and overconfident, and slipping in the teamwork department."

"Seriously," grumbled Jackal. "If you're going to hit anyone with the ball, it should at _least _be someone on the other side of the net."

"You were in my way," Marui declared loftily, only to drop his chin upon meeting Yukimura's gaze. "Not that I'm not crazy excited to watch some doubles and improve my game. Because I am. Go Rikkai!" he called through the chain-link fence. On the court, Takamiya blushed, but Fuyumi barely batted an eyelash.

As one of the Tamagawa girls served, Yukimura asked An, "Are you all right?"

She turned to face him, having been looking around for Kirihara. Ever since Atobe had kissed her in front of all those people, the black-haired boy had been ignoring her. It was stupid and childish and annoying, and she hadn't approached him either. What would she say? _Sorry Atobe kissed me? _Like hell it was _her _fault.

And also... she kind of... She frowned, shook her head. There was no also. No way no way no _way _could there be an also, not when it came to Atobe. _Atobe_, of all people.

Stupid Atobe.

"I'm okay, Yukimura-senpai. Thanks for asking." He said nothing, just watched her. She swallowed. "Uh... so where's Sayoko?" At that, his weary, cross expression spoke for him. His sister was with Niou, which meant An had to scramble for an even newer subject. "Nice, uh, weather. Nice weather today. Very... nice."

The set of his mouth changed, hinted at a flicker of a smile, like the sun just beginning to peek over the horizon. One thing she'd come to understand was that he preferred to choose when and how to smile. Not necessarily to construct smiles, as his sister did, but to be entirely in control of them.

Being _made _to smile, whether by surprise or pleasure, was something she suspected he was not terribly accustomed to.

That glimpse of a smile was his only reply. Folding his arms loosely over his chest, he turned his attention to the match. Fuyumi and Takamiya were already up four games to love, the former looking intensely focused, the latter relaxed. "I hope you're taking notes, Marui."

The redhead, who'd been trying to chat up an unimpressed Watanabe, made a face that Yukimura couldn't see, before turning around and joining him and An at the fence. "Pages upon pages of notes. Highlighted, annotated, bound with leather. We won't even talk about how many trees I've killed."

In truth, Fuyumi and Takamiya really were to be studied and admired. They functioned like Jackal and Marui, with the captain covering the baseline and her partner controlling the net, but each played offense and defense, with Fuyumi hitting winners and Takamiya saving short balls that her partner couldn't reach.

After a couple minutes, An suggested to Yukimura, "You and Sanada-senpai should play doubles together. Having the captain and vice-captain as a doubles pair would really throw the other team off."

"We tried, once. Suffice to say it did not go well."

"Understatement," Marui muttered, and it seemed Yukimura would round on him in that quiet, cold way of his—

But he inclined his head. "That may be," he admitted, with a touch of rueful good humor. "Perhaps we should give it another go. What do you say, Sanada?" The addressed boy, though he was within hearing range, responded neither visibly nor vocally.

Yukimura laughed. "He's ignoring me. He does that when he thinks I'm being ridiculous."

And_ this, _this was the side of him she liked best, when his eyes danced and his words were light. Not that other boy who wore his face, the Child of God. She didn't like that boy very much at all.

So she hugged him. She hugged him, and she thought, _Stay. Stay like this. Stay with me._

_Please, just stay.  
_

For, excepting one attempt at the bookstore, she'd never confronted him about how harsh he could be, how cold. She'd tried to bury the feelings, tried to ignore them. To some extent, it had worked._  
_

But she couldn't wish away her disappointment with herself, her shame, for not being as brave or strong or sure as she'd always prided herself on being. Every time she did not speak up when he did something that pricked at her conscience, she let herself down, just a little more.

"An?" Yukimura's hands were on her shoulders. "Look at me. Are you sure you're all right?"

_Yes. No. Yes. What can I say but yes?  
_

She hugged him just a moment longer, so that her soundless whisper was lost in the fabric of his jersey: _I love you._

(And she whispered another word right after that, one she hadn't meant to say, didn't know why she'd said, except she did, but she couldn't feel that way, had to push away that feeling, lock it up tight.)_  
_

Then she took a step back, a step away from him, and away from the girl who had issues she'd been avoiding. A step back into the role of the girl for whom everything was great. "I'm fine, Yukimura-senpai," she chirped. "It's all good. I just love you a lot, you know?"

Her tone was flip, as if she were only throwing around the word _love_. Nonetheless, he considered her closely, but if he meant to say anything, he missed his opportunity.

"What about how much you love _me_?" Marui wanted to know. "Feeling a little left out over here."

So she hugged him as well, a quick squeeze around the middle, knowing she looked like a hug-slut. But she couldn't bring herself to care, for the umpire called out, "Rikkai Dai's Fuyumi-Takamiya pair wins, six-love, six-love." All four girls shook hands as the crowd cheered.

"One more, Rikkai Dai! One more win for Rikkai!"

An said, "Oh, cool." She thought, _Finally._

"Guess Tamagawa wasn't as good as we made them out to be," Shimizu commented as An grabbed her bag and redid her ponytail. "Kinda disappointed." She got up so that Fuyumi could retake the coach's bench._  
_

"We'll see," the captain replied, sitting down and taking a long drink of water, though neither she nor her partner were out of breath. It occurred to An that she'd never seen them even have to try in a match, and so she'd never seen them play seriously.

But she had more important things to think about. "Um, Takamiya-senpai—" _I didn't mean to be insensitive._

The auburn-haired girl, on her way off the court, smiled. "Good luck, Tachibana-kun." The sentiment seemed genuine, which meant An could stop worrying and focus on her match, though she did spare a moment to wish that she shared the older girl's forgive-and-forget nature.

She returned the smile, before wiping her face clean, and trotting out onto the court. Today, she would not let herself or anyone else down. Today, she would win.

~x~

"An's serve needs work," said Yukimura, tapping a fingertip against his chin. "She's not getting enough first serves in, and her opponent is getting a good look at those second serves."

"Well, yeah, but she hasn't faced a break-point yet, and she's already up five-two. She's playing great."

"Don't get so defensive of your protégé, Shimizu." Watanabe was braiding a length of her long dark hair. "Nobody's saying that—"

The crowd began murmuring anxiously.

An had been running to the left, only to realize that she'd misjudged her opponent's shot. Trying to turn on a dime, she'd landed on her right ankle the wrong way, and fallen to her knees.

The umpire asked if she was okay, and started to climb down toward her, but she stood up and waved him away, saying "It's fine, I'm fine, let's continue the match." She seemed somewhat shaken, and was favoring her ankle a little, but went to the baseline and hit a good return all the same.

"Do you think she's really all right?" Nakajima murmured, as the point played out in front of them.

"The kid will be fine." Shimizu sounded absolutely certain. "See?" An used a drop-shot to lure her opponent to the net, then lobbed over her head, the ball landing neatly on the baseline. People applauded.

Yukimura was unconvinced. "Look at her opponent. The Akimoto girl."

She had not dashed back to try to return the lob. Instead she remained where she was, head tilted to the side, eyes narrowed. Looking at An, her expression was thoughtful, but a nasty sort of thoughtful, one that said, _Aha. Got you._

With that last point, An had won the first set, and she moved carefully toward Fuyumi's bench. The brunette tossed her a water bottle. "How's the ankle, Tachibana?"_  
_

An shrugged a little, smiled a little. "Been better. No big deal, though."

"No," said the older girl slowly, "maybe not. As long as you finish up quickly, you should be fine. We just want to get that ankle iced as soon as possible. The other Quarterfinals match hasn't finished yet, but we'll be playing Hyotei next weekend. Count on it."

"Cool. All I need is six more games, yeah? Twenty-four points. No problem." An set the bottle down, bounced lightly to test her ankle, and assumed her position once more.

"Rikkai's Tachibana leads, one-love, love-all. Tamagawa's Akimoto to serve."

From the moment the second set began, Akimoto ran her.

She ran An from side to side, nailing the corners over and over again, left, right, left, right. It was predictable in that the chestnut-haired girl always knew where to expect it, but an effective strategy in the wear and tear it put on her ankle.

"That's low," someone in the crowd muttered.

"Bad sportsmanship," agreed another loudly.

All the Rikkai regulars, boys and girls, just watched. Taking advantage of weakness was not to be criticized. Courtesy and empathy did not win National Championships, and the Law of Rikkai was to always win. Play smart, be ruthless, do whatever you must, so long as you come out the victor.

_Dura lex, sed lex: _The Law is hard, but it is the Law.

"That other girl's completely in control," Fujimaru commented. "Tachibana's stuck just chasing the ball down."

"She could break out," noted Katsuragi idly. "If she put her mind to it."

"She will." Sayoko appeared to take her place beside her brother, Niou trailing some distance behind. "It's written all over her face." The chestnut-haired girl's expression was of a grim, grim determination. "But it'll further injure her ankle." She looked up at her brother. "Won't it?"

Yanagi answered. "The best method of regaining control would be to hit stronger shots. To change the direction, the pace, to dictate the points."

Flatly, Shimizu finished for him. "But to do that she'll have to plant her feet and really strike the ball. If she does that, she can still win this match. But ankle problems are tricky. She may condemn herself to being benched for the next couple matches, maybe the rest of the season."

"How unfortunate," drawled Niou. Sayoko kicked him lightly, without turning away from her brother.

"Oniisan," she said. Her eyes shone, flame-blue but not flickering. "Oniisan, she can't miss the rest of the season. That would kill her."

"She's not my player," he replied. His gaze slid to Fuyumi, sitting calmly on the bench. "But were she mine, I would have her continue. She's not incapacitated, and if she makes every shot count, she can end this without sustaining too much more damage to her ankle."

As if An heard him—and perhaps she did—she raced to the right corner of the court, stopped with her feet spread and her racquet drawn back, and slammed the ball cross-court, with ferocious topspin and a neat little angle. Her opponent could only watch it fly by.

"Thirty-fifteen."

"_There _we go," Shimizu grinned. "It's about time. God, this kid loves giving me gray hair."

Lips pressed tightly together, An moved to receive serve once again. By using the same shot-making, one-two tennis technique, she broke serve and got on the scoreboard, though she still trailed one-three in the set.

"If she holds her serve, she'll really put pressure on Akimoto," observed Takamiya, soft approval coloring her words. "Get inside her head."

"Make her doubt herself," agreed Jackal, inciting the auburn-haired girl's blush. "Sometimes it's nice that tennis is a mental game." He eyed Yanagi and Niou. "_Some_times. There are people who take the concept too far." A muscle in Yanagi's face jumped; he clasped his hands behind his back.

Niou lifted a single brow, and said carelessly, "Don't know what you mean by that."

Akimoto did not, however, crack under the pressure. Instead, she crouched low, waiting for An's serve. When it came, she took it early, stepping in and sending it hurtling toward An's injured ankle. The chestnut-haired girl blocked it with a reflexive one-handed backhand, but her return fell short, and Akimoto hit a drop-shot.

An sprinted in.

Very calmly, Shimizu said, "_Shit._"

Akimoto, already waiting at the net, took a swinging volley. An was too close, her chance to react nearly nonexistent. The ball crashed into her ankle, right above her shoe. With a wordless cry, she went down, shoulders hunched and knees buckling, hands clutching at her ankle.

Her opponent stared down at her, then turned and strode casually toward the baseline, cocking her hip when she got there, as if to tell An, _Hurry up._

Sayoko crossed her arms, and cocked her own hip, demanding, "_Now _would you keep her in?" Eyebrows raised, her brother turned to her, and she let her arms fall to her sides.

An had already stood up, and was demonstrating for the umpire that she could still move, could still play. "I'm fine," she told him, a smile straining at her lips like cheap fabric at the seams. "Really, it's okay. Let's just keep going."

Shimizu had other ideas. "Pull her," she said to Fuyumi, coming to stand behind the bench.

The brunette did not turn around. "She's still got game left in her."

"Pull her."

"She can still win." It was impossible to determine whether Fuyumi was truly arguing to keep An in, or playing devil's advocate.

Shimizu inspired no doubt. "_Pull_ her."

With quiet certainty, Fuyumi made a final point. "She'll hate us for it."

Just as quietly, Shimizu said it once more. "Pull her."

Fuyumi stood up. "Rikkai Dai withdraws Tachibana from the match," she announced, "forfeiting Singles Three to Tamagawa."

~x~

"_What?"_

An could not believe what she'd heard. Honestly could not believe it. Rikkai Dai never, ever forfeited. That would break the Law. So _what _if her ankle felt like it had been ripped apart, if every step was agony? She could still play. She could play, and make that bitch Akimoto suffer for what she'd done.

"You heard me, Tachibana." Resolution rang clear in Fuyumi's voice. "Get off the court."

"But—"

"Now."

Fuyumi sat down again, crossing one long leg over the other. Behind her, Katsuragi tested her racquet strings in preparation for Singles Two. It was final. It was over.

An was _pissed_.

All her restraint went into not hurling her racquet. She had none left to keep herself from stalking over to and snapping at her captain and vice-captain. "Okay, _seriously_? What happened to 'Always win'? What happened to 'No mercy'?"

"We're not showing mercy." Fuyumi's brown eyes betrayed nothing. "We're showing prudence."

"We need you healthy," Shimizu added, her fingers fumbling with the silver cross around her neck, giving it quick sharp yanks. "We need you to play Hyotei. We need you for Nationals."

It was a sound argument, but An's adrenaline and emotion were high. These people demanded that she do absolutely everything she could to win for them, then would not even allow her to finish her match? It was _her _match, hers to win or lose, hers to continue or forfeit.

Without another word, she tossed her racquet in the direction of her bag and cut through the crowds, her strides long and heavy, with no care for her ankle. She didn't know where she was going, just _away_. Away from the court and her team and the unfairness of it all.

She'd only made it about fifty yards or so when Kirihara caught up to her.

She hadn't seen him standing with the other regulars, didn't know where he'd been watching from. "Hey," he said, coming up beside her, reaching for her arm, "hey—"

"Don't _touch _me," she bit out, tearing away from him. "You are the _last _person I want to see right now, do you know that?" Her hands tightened into fists. "Do you _understand _that?" she half-shouted, tears burning the backs of her eyes, searing her throat.

_My brother, _she thought. _What just happened to me, _you _did __to my brother. You put him through this pain, this humiliation._

Kirihara only watched her steadily. She almost hit him. "Well? _Do you?_"_  
_

"Yes." He spoke quietly, maybe more quietly than she'd ever heard him. "But I needed to see if you're okay." He asked, "_Are _you okay?"

She didn't know whether he meant her ankle or her mood, didn't know what he would do if she said that she wasn't. So she nodded once. "Yeah." Her voice cracked. "Yeah, I'm okay. I just." She swallowed. "Yeah."

"Bullshit," he said frankly. He was looking at her hard, the way he would size up someone standing across the net. And there _was _something there, something between them, something she could not bring herself to cross. In tennis, you didn't even touch the net, because that was against the rules.

Without rules, what did you have? What did you do?

Rules meant you didn't have to think or decide or reconsider. Rules meant you could keep things the way they were.

She looked at him, and she decided, _This is the way it is. We tried another way, tried to be together, and it didn't work. So whatever's between us, it has to stay there.  
_

She crossed her arms. "Shut up, okay? Just—what do you know, anyway? I'm fine. Stop staring at me like you want to knock me down."

"Maybe that's what I want to do," he responded, as reasonably as if he were telling her the time of day. "At least if I knocked the wind out of you, you wouldn't have the breath to keep repeating your 'I'm great and everything's fine and I don't need anyone' mantra. How have you not gotten over that already?"

"Shut _up_," she seethed, because he didn't know what he was talking about, who was _he _to talk, anyway, "just shut up and leave me _alone_. You don't want to hear me talking? Then just _go _already. God, you are just—I don't—"

"Yeah, whatever." Directing one last narrow, unsmiling look at her, he went back the way he'd come, hands in his pockets and strides unhurried, returning to the court, where people were once again chanting "One more, Rikkai Dai! One more win for Rikkai!"

And An just stood there. She just stood there, face turned toward the sky, and kept swallowing, kept blinking back tears. It was all she knew to do. Then, once she felt composed enough, she took her phone from her pocket and punched in her brother's number, time difference be damned.

She was stuck, she knew that much. Stuck in a rut, stuck in a cycle. Trapped the way Akimoto had trapped her, always running, always chasing, never getting anywhere. Smiling and smiling and finding less and less reasons to be happy.

So where did she go from here?

* * *

**7/13/12 Edit****: **I have come to a conclusion. KiriAn does not work. It just does not. Not while they're in high school.

So.

WHAT THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO DO NOW? Somebody please tell me what to doooooooo. /sobs

Disclaimer: I do not own _Princ__e of Tennis_, or Green River Ordinance's "Resting Hour" (lyrics at the top).


	38. If Love's a Word That You Say

Author's Note: Anybody else watch Jenna Marbles? Anybody else sing to their pets?

* * *

**250 Dark Stars**

_(Open up to me, open up to me  
_

_I will always be your resting hour  
_

_Give it all to me, give it all to me)  
_

_...  
_

Her brother did not answer his phone. Not the first time An called, or the next, or even on her third try. When she got back to her aunt's empty apartment, she got on her laptop and discovered why: he was playing a match. It wouldn't stream, but the score was updated live. She lay on her bed and just watched the numbers change, fifteen thirty forty, love-all one-love, one-all two-one.

Then her alarm went off, and she realized she'd fallen asleep Sunday afternoon and slept right through to Monday morning.

She went through school in a daze. If called on in class, she could only stare and mumble. Sayoko used her influence to keep An from getting seriously scolded, though it wasn't as if the chestnut-haired girl would even have registered her teachers' disapproval.

Tomorrow was a teacher work day, meaning they did not have school, so Fuyumi (persuaded by Shimizu's wheedling) allowed practice to end a little early, so long as they played extra hard while they were there. At this, An did not succeed. She was as out of it on the courts as she'd been in the classroom, but no one called her on it. Probably figured she just needed time to calm down.

_Was _that what she needed?

She sat in the locker room long after everyone else had gone home. Just stared at the uniforms and racquets and training schedules and thought, _I don't have to do this. I could quit. Maybe I was never meant to come here, to play tennis here. Maybe it's time to move on._

But the thought of filling out a resignation form made her want to cry.

When finally she exited the clubhouse, she heard the sound of tennis balls rebounding off racquet strings. Katsuragi was out there by herself, playing against a ball-machine cranked up to its highest level. Sweat darkened her hair, coated her face. Tennis balls carpeted the court.

The older girl heard the door swing shut, turned around. Her eyes widened when she saw An, but the chestnut-haired girl herself couldn't muster the energy to feel surprised. Dully, she asked, "Why? Why would you pretend to not even care about tennis, but then work so hard in secret? What's the point?"

_Why even bother?_

Katsuragi caught a tennis ball, stared down at it. An thought she would not answer, but finally, carefully, she said, "If I lost, and everyone knew how much I cared about it, how much it hurt me… that might be even worse than the loss itself. You know? If you don't seem to care, you can just shrug it off."

She paused. "I guess I'm trying to say… the more you care, or seem to, the more vulnerable you are. The more you care, the worse you can get hurt."

Katsuragi shrugged. Said, "That may be _y__our_ problem, Tachibana."

~x~

The morning of their day off school, Sayoko woke up around seven-thirty, threw on clothes, and padded downstairs. The house was empty. Her parents were already gone, as was her brother. He and Yagyuu were playing a couple sets at an indoor tennis club, then buying equipment to restock the team's supplies.

"Just you and me, buddy," said Sayoko to Wimble, finding him curled up under the kitchen table. He only flicked an ear, so she crouched down and sang to him. "This is the part of Wimble that you're never gonna ever take away from Wimble, no, this is the part of Wimble that you're never—"

He hissed.

"You are an ungrateful monster," she informed him, "and I scorn your general direction." She stood and turned her back to him, pouring herself a cup of still-hot tea. Her brother must have left only shortly before.

She went to the study and sat down on the cushioned ledge under the window, which looked out over her brother's garden. The sky was soft gray. Sipping her tea, she glanced at the piano. How many lessons had she and her brother taken at it? She could still hear the melodies tangling together, soaring high, sinking low.

But now she heard something else, something that haunted her. Still musical, but disconcerting. Laughter. Takada Shouta's laughter.

Her brother kept footage of all Rikkai's matches. On Saturday she'd snuck into the clubhouse and stolen a disc marked _Kirigaoka High School_. She'd taken it home, watched it once everyone else had gone to bed.

She understood now. Understood Kirigaoka's hostility. Understood Takada's hatred of her brother.

She understood, but she didn't want to think about it. Instead she pulled out a book: Mearsheimer's _The Tragedy of Great Power Politics_. It was peaceful and quiet, there in the study, and she began to relax, to forget about Kirigaoka. Forget about the doubt and disquiet the footage had left her with. Forget about the shot of her brother's small, amused smile that plagued her just as the laughter did.

And then Niou Masaharu rang the doorbell.

She opened the door, blinked at him. "Niou-senpai," she said, smiling at the sight of him, despite her confusion. "Oniisan isn't here…"

"I know." He stood hipshot. Behind him were the street, the other houses, the rainclouds. "Nice shirt."

She was wearing a long-sleeved polo of her brother's, with broad, alternating stripes of light and dark blue. It was, of course, too big for her, the white collar dipping low, exposing her collarbones. "It's laundry day," she mumbled, blushing. "My stuff's in the wash."

"Sure it is."

She crossed her arms, but kept smiling, knowing it would only encourage him, but unable to help it. "Did you come all the way here just to make fun of me? You really need to get a hobby. Or a friend other than Yagyuu-senpai, maybe."

"Just because you are a paragon of charm and social success," he drawled, "does not give you the right to look down on those less fortunate." His eyes gleaming, he took a step back, tilting his head toward the street.

"Sweetheart," he said. "Come with me."

She was at his side in a moment, and—and it was a little alarming, wasn't it? Her eagerness to be with him. The pull of him, an outgoing tide, drawing her farther and farther from shore.

But she wasn't thinking about that right then, or about where they were going, or why, or whether this was a good idea or a very, very bad one. Did it matter? It was nine a.m. on Tuesday morning, and Niou Masaharu had come to get her.

~x~

They took a train into the city. They'd missed the crush of people going to work, but it was still near-full. Sayoko was under-dressed for a day out, and couldn't help but notice with some resentment that _Niou _looked great.

They both wore jeans, but hers were worn and faded, while his were black and fit perfectly. His short-sleeved shirt was the color of red wine, and the front featured a black-and-white graphic design. Loosely gripping the overhead bar with one hand, his eyelids hooded low, he seemed the picture of disaffected youth.

"Come on," he murmured, jolting her from her musings. The train had stopped, and he nudged her out of the compartment. They were at a station she'd never gotten off at before. Trash and broken glass littered the sidewalk; graffiti was the only color in the otherwise bleak landscape. Yet Niou seemed comfortable with the surroundings, crooking his finger for her to follow him.

She did so, frowning. Niou's clothing was upscale, his phone high tech; he attended one of the most elite, expensive private schools in the nation. There was also the small matter of his brother going to boarding school in _Switzerland_. Could he really be from this area?

"Niou-senpai… are you with the yakuza?"

"As a matter of fact, I'm not. But thanks for asking."

Hardly anyone else was out, but those that they did pass had a grim, unfriendly look to them. One man leered at Sayoko, but she only lifted a brow. Niou was with her, so what did she have to worry about?

After turning a corner, said boy stopped. "In here."

Sayoko eyed the squat, ugly brick building. A sign hung crookedly over the door, but it was too dirty to be legible. "Drug den?"

"If only."

"Gambling hall?"

"I wish."

She paused. "If you've taken me here to sell me into prostitution, I swear to God—"

"You," he began, but didn't seem to know how to continue. Shaking his head, he ushered her inside. The building may have once been a rowhouse, but the interior walls had been knocked down, opening up a long space. The place was, to her surprise, clean, well-lit, and citrus-scented.

It was also full of rows and boxes and dressers and tables full of _stuff_. Old records and photographs, ornate mirrors and stacks upon stacks of books and—

"Welcome." A old man approached them. His clothes hung loosely from his frail body, but when he took Sayoko's hand, shook it, his grip was tight. "Hello there." He smiled at her, white teeth stark against leathery skin, before rounding on Niou. "And you. Where have you been?"

"Around."

"Whenever you stop visiting, I assume you've gotten yourself thrown in prison." The man drew himself erect, though he had only an inch or two on Sayoko. "Who do you think you are, making an old man worry like that?"

Niou's mouth twitched. Delicately, and with great irony, he said, "My bad."

"Hmph. Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?"

"My name is Yukimura Sayoko," she supplied, prompting Niou's _And there you have_ gesture. "It's very nice to meet you."

The man turned to her once more, visibly suppressing a smile. " I'm Kamura Seii. I can already tell you're better behaved than _this_ one." With a jerk of his chin, he indicated Niou, who didn't so much as blink twice.

"He's a ruffian, that one," she agreed, smiling, which made Kamura crack and smile back. If Niou liked him, Sayoko liked him. "Kids these days are the worst."

"That they are." He gestured expansively. "Well, go ahead and look around, Yukimura-chan. This place started out as a music store, but as you'll soon find, I sell a bit of everything."

She inclined her head and murmured her thanks, heading toward the back. She was still within hearing-range when Kamura said in a low, conversational tone, "Well, damn if she's not a looker, but I never thought I'd see the day when you brought a girl here, Niou Masaharu."

She glanced back in time to see that Niou's only response was a shrug.

Minutes later, she was rummaging through a dresser full of old costumes when the pale-haired boy strolled over. "What do you think?" she asked, plopping a giant sombrero on her head. It settled low, largely obscuring her vision. She spread her arms wide, as if she'd just completed a gymnastics routine.

"That's hot," he deadpanned. She laughed, taking the hat off her own head and trying to place it on his. "Oh, no you don't," he said, snatching it away and tossing it up on top of the dresser, out of her reach.

"You were just afraid it wouldn't look as good on you as it did on me. Admit it."

"That's it," he nodded. "You got me." There was an animation to his voice and expression, a raw electricity, not throwing sparks, just running as if along a copper wire under his skin. It was quiet, this avidity of his, this openness, but it was rare and it was _precious_, and she would not waste it.

Knowing Niou would follow, Sayoko skipped toward the CDs. There was no method to the madness: Lady Gaga was next to Beethoven was next to Southern All Stars. "How does this place stay open?" she wondered aloud. "I mean, it's cool, but not exactly an effective business model."

"The old man's actually already retired, and independently wealthy from his old job," Niou replied, selecting a jazz CD with a practiced hand. Placing the disc into a nearby CD player, he continued, "He just runs this place for fun, sells whatever he wants to. He doesn't really make any money."

"I don't see how he could. We're the only ones in here."

The music started playing. It was a deep, smoky sort of sound, colorful in its own way, but boring after the first minute. After some searching, Sayoko produced one of Utada Hikaru's newer albums, which she held out to Niou.

One would have thought she'd slapped him across the face. He said flatly, "No J-pop."

"Fine. K-pop?"

"No."

"Oh, come on. _C_-pop? Work with me here."

"You have _terrible_ taste in music," he told her. and though he kept his expression perfectly straight, she knew he wanted to smile. That filled her with a bright rushing energy.

"Katy Perry," she tried, flipping through the CDs. "Or Lady Gaga, or Rihanna, or…"

"Seriously God-awful taste," he emphasized.

"All right," she said, carefully extracting a CD from the bottom of a stack, "Walk the Moon. You have to like Walk the Moon." They were her American host sister's favorite band. Or had been, at least. When _was _the last time she'd emailed Emily?

She switched the CDs out. When the first track came on over the speaker system, Niou made a show of appearing unimpressed with it. "Seriously, Niou-senpai?" She crossed her arms. "Now you're just being a music snob, you with your pretentious jazz."

He only lifted a brow.

So she started singing, much the way she had with Wimble. Niou had come to get her. Wanted to spend the day with her. That made her brave. "Firecrackers in the east, my car parked south," she sang, moving closer, "your hands on my cheeks, your shoulder in my mouth, I was up against the wall on the west mezzanine—"

"Stop it." A muscle in his cheek jumped. "Sweetie, you're adorable, but you can't sing worth a damn. Hasn't anyone ever told you that?"

She stuck her tongue out at him, picked back up. "What do you know, this house is falling apart, what can I say, this house is falling apart," and there, his poker-face was cracking, she could see it, "we got no money but we got heart—"

He laughed, turning his head to the side so she couldn't see. Beaming, she took his hands, swung them from side to side. Tried to make him face her as he'd done to her so many times in the past. Only he did something she'd never thought to do.

He reversed her grip and raised his arm, spinning her out and away from him so that she could not see his face. Laughing, she held on to his hand, using it to tug herself back in.

_We're gonna rattle this ghost town  
This house is falling apart_

Instead of spinning her back out, he pulled her in closer, so close that her face was pressed to his throat. She could _feel _his laughter, feel the vibrations in his chest and shoulders, but could not actually see him laughing.

But with his arms were around her waist and her head tucked under his chin, she couldn't really bring herself to care.

_We were up against the wall  
On the west mezzanine_

Niou must have felt her face heat up, must have felt the delicate skin of his throat burn, but he didn't comment on it. He brought one hand up, pushing Sayoko's hair away from her ear. He leaned down, leaned in, mouthing something. The words were inaudible, but she could feel his lips brush the shell of her ear.

Then he pulled away.

_What do you know?  
This house is falling apart_

She stood there, gazing at him, her face aflame. She wanted to tell him, _We can't do this. Remember? _Instead she asked, "What did you say?"

He wouldn't tell her, of course. Had not meant for her to hear. But she had to ask.

He smirked. "I said you're lucky you're smart, because you couldn't sing your way out of a paper bag."

She couldn't come up with anything to say. Could only look at him.

_What can I say?  
This house is falling apart_

~x~

"But it's raining."

"Yes," Niou agreed. "Yes, it is. Very astute of you. Let's go."

"But it's raining," said Sayoko again, frowning. They'd spent four hours sitting on the floor among the stacks of books, which she had, as Niou'd put it, "geeked out over." Now, just as they were preparing to leave, the skies had opened up.

"Right again. Remember what I said about you being smart? I meant every word. This is mindblowing information that you're imparting to me. Observations of apple-falling-from-a-tree-equals-gravity proportions. Have you ever thought about writing a book?"

"Niou-sen_pai_." She nudged his foot. He flicked her forehead. She crossed her arms. "This isn't just rain. This is," she fumbled, "this is a Biblical rainstorm. This is a rainstorm where people grab lumber and hammers and wombats and try to build an ark but end up just buying an inflatable raft from the supermarket and hoping for the best. That is the sort of rainstorm this is."

"Wombats, huh?" He smirked. "Heard you and Atobe have already picked out a name for yours."

"Shut up." When his smirk only grew, she lifted her chin, blustering, "But yes, we have. His name will be Sevastopol."

"Only you," said Niou, his mouth twitching, "would name an imaginary wombat after a seige made during the Crimean War." It was doubtlessly wishful thinking on her part, but he actually sounded pretty fond of her. "Now come on." He opened the door. "It's only three blocks to the restaurant. You'll be fine."

Outside thunder crashed and the rain pounded and the wind whipped through the streets.

But Niou was holding out his hand to her, so she took it.

They ran down the street.

There was water everywhere, drenching everything. When she breathed, she breathed rain. Niou led her along but never seriously rushed. He was enjoying it, enjoying the crash of the storm like waves against the beach. When lightning tore the sky in half, he laughed, or at least he might have. Sayoko couldn't really see through the rain, couldn't hear over the noise. But she suspected he had.

So she smiled, slow and bright, and fell just a little bit in love with him.

Then she began sprinting in earnest, passing him but keeping hold of his hand, tugging as she shouted, "Come on come on run run run run run, come on come _on_, it's raining it's raining come on run!"

But he skidded to a stop, spraying water, and pulled her back. She nearly fell over. "We're here," he said, opening a door and drawing her inside. Sayoko only registered three things: that the place smelled good, that it was warm, and, most importantly, that it was dry.

And then suddenly someone was wrapping an enormous white towel around her. She stiffened.

"Niou Masaharu," scolded the woman with the towel. She was stout and gray-haired, her face careworn. "Kamura told me you'd be by, and that I should be ready with towels. You've nearly drowned this poor girl! What do you have to say for yourself?"

Niou caught the towel she threw at him. Said, "I can't do anything right today. Can I?" He didn't sound particularly concerned about it.

The woman huffed, steering Sayoko toward a small, scarred table by the window. The chairs were heavy and worn, but comfortable when she sat down. Pushing her soaked hair out of her face, she looked around to see the restaurant was small and traditional, with only a couple other customers, none younger than fifty.

The heater was cranked up high, so she hoped her clothes would dry soon. Luckily her jeans hadn't gotten terribly wet—_that _would have been uncomfortable. Still, she shot Niou an accusatory look as he sat down across from her. "I got wet."

"Hadn't noticed." As he toweled off his hair, she considered the fact that they were in a restaurant, seated at a table for two. This was different than just going to a store.

Were they on a date?

Before she could humiliate herself by asking, the lady appeared with two cups and a steaming kettle of green tea. After pouring the tea, she said their food would be ready within half an hour, patted Sayoko on the head, and bustled away.

"But we didn't even order," said Sayoko once the lady was gone. Niou only shrugged. "And she patted my head. I don't even know her, and she patted my head."

He smirked, took a sip of tea. "You do sort of look like a drowned kitten."

"Yeah, well you look like a… a drowned… fish."

"Do I."

"You do," she mumbled. "Which is doubly bad, since, you know, fish don't drown. And whatnot."

"And whatnot," he echoed, regarding her the way he often did when she was being childish or pitiful, but without any of the condescension that usually saturated the expression. In fact, again he looked almost fond.

Sayoko allowed herself a small smile as she sipped her tea. Over the rain spattering against the window, she said, "You must come here a lot."

He tilted his head. Said slowly, "When it suits me."

"As if you ever do anything when it doesn't suit you," she said wryly. Pulling the towel closer around herself, she went on carefully, "I don't know. You just seem relaxed here, that's all. At the music store, too." The facial animation, the willingness to talk, the physical contact… it was almost too good to be true.

Actually, it _was _too good to be true. He had to have an ulterior motive. Niou _always _had an ulterior motive. She trusted him to care for her, but openness and honesty were another matter.

_You love him, _she chided herself. _Trust him more._

"I," said Niou calmly, "am always relaxed."

"Uh, yeah, okay," said Sayoko, giggling. "If you say so. I guess you're always _pretending _to be relaxed. Which is like being relaxed, sure, if being relaxed involved watching and thinking and taking calculated risks and thinking. Also thinking. And watching. Did I miss anything?"

"Pondering," he drawled, propping his chin up on his fist. "My days are consumed by quite a bit of soul-searching." A moment passed. Lowly, he admitted, "I come here to get out of my apartment."

"… Oh." Had he actually shared that with her? Was he feeling _sick _today? "Is it…" Oh God, she couldn't blow this chance. "Is it because of your sister?"

"No." He looked out the window, at the drumming rain and empty streets. Overhead lightning bolts created their own ephemeral constellations, there for a moment, then gone forever. Sayoko feared he wouldn't say a word more, but at length came, "She moved out when she was fifteen. Went to school in London."

"Her too?" She blinked. "If she went to England and your brother to Switzerland… were you supposed to go to school in Europe too?"

What if he had? What if she'd never met him? Or worse, if she'd met him, come to depend on him, and then he'd left?

"No." Again the short answered seemed so much easier for him than the explanation. Slowly, slowly, without looking at her, Niou continued, "Kaito just chose to leave. My sister," he began, and stopped. As if he were speaking a foreign language, didn't know the right words. "My sister got kicked out."

Sayoko swallowed. Asked, "Why?"

Finally he turned his head, faced her. His eyes were such a strange, lovely color, like the glass window beside him, the rain and gray sky beyond. "She's gay."

"Oh," she said, relieved. "I was afraid she was like a drug addict or something." But he did not smile, just looked away again. Hesitantly, she ventured, "So your parents weren't okay with that?" It was hardly surprising; few adults in Japan were.

"No," he said, his mouth twisting. "No, they were not okay with that. When she refused to stay with relatives, my parents told her she could go anywhere in the world, that they'd pay for any school she wanted. She just couldn't stay here."

"My God," said Sayoko softly. "That's awful." She looked down at her cup. "So… um. Is that why you—don't like her? Your sister. Because she's gay?"

Niou exhaled suddenly, a sharp, bitter sort of laugh. "I don't give a damn that she's gay. I give a damn that she left."

She frowned. "But you said she got kicked out."

"So what? She could have stayed. If she'd really tried to, she could have. And all the holidays, all the school breaks, she just traveled. Never tried to come back, not even when our parents stopped being dickheads. Said she could come back. She didn't want to. I can practically count on one hand the times I've seen her since then. Kaito barely _knows _her, he was so young when she left."

His jaw set, Niou crossed his arms, slouched down lower in his chair. Sayoko knew the experience had pained him, that talking about it went so against his nature that it must have felt like pulling teeth. And later, yes, later she would marvel at the personal information he'd shared, grin like an idiot and dance around her room because he'd told all this to _her_, trusted _her_, but—

She couldn't help it. She giggled.

Niou lifted his chin. "And what," he asked slowly, "are you laughing at?"

He had separate modes of interaction for different people, she knew that. Most fell into the yeah-whatever-go-screw-yourself category, while some, opponents mainly, were treated with ice. Ice and cunning and aggression. He could be cruel. He could be _mean_. She'd known this since she'd met him, but had never really dwelt on it, because…

Because she'd always been a class apart in terms of how she was treated. At worst he was disdainful, mocking. But occasionally he would be gentle. Occasionally kind, occasionally patient, supportive. Always protective.

But now he was giving her a glance—just a glance—at what he showed people across the net.

She cringed. The laughter died on her lips.

He exhaled. "Seriously," he said, more softly. "Sweetie. What's so funny?"

"It's just." Now she smiled a little, picturing it. "You just looked so _sullen_. Like a little kid. And I only… I just…" She'd been so pleased to realize Niou could be childish, just like her. That he could have unrealistic expectations, just like her. That there were some people he _needed_, truly cared about.

Just like her.

"Thank you," she said quietly, smiling at him. "Thank you for telling me about your sister."

"Whatever." That he couldn't think of anything better to say only proved how uncomfortable he felt.

Then something occurred to her. "Hey, Niou-senpai…"

He slid his gaze toward her. He'd been looking out at the rain again. "Yeah?"

"Your sister, she…" Sayoko blushed. Did she dare bring this up? She could very well be setting herself up for humiliation. But she had to go through with it now. "She said you have a photo of me. Is that, um. Is that true?"

His eyebrows lifted, as did one corner of his mouth. "Sure," he replied, sounding amused. "From the day you left for America."

"What? But how…" And then she remembered. Her brother had been going through a photography phase at the time. She'd been walking down the terminal, but had paused when he'd said, "Smile, Sayoko." She'd half-turned, her hair spilling over her shoulder, her eyes half-lidded, a smile tucked at the corner of her mouth. "Oh," she murmured now. "That one. He emailed me a copy. How did _you_ get it?"

"Stole it from your brother, one night I stayed over."

She bit down on her thumbnail. "But why?"

"I liked it. I wanted to have it." At her wide-eyed stare, he said nonchalantly, "You can have it back, if you want."

"Um. Um. No, that's… that's all right. You can keep it."

"Want to know a secret?" Leaning toward her, he whispered, "I would have kept it anyway."

~x~

"And a moon bounce," Sayoko was saying as their food came, "and an inflatable obstacle course, and a petting zoo, and a trampoline, and another trampoline so that you can jump from one trampoline to the other trampoline, and a pool filled with orange soda, and an arena where we all fight to the death with baseball bats and cans of Silly String."

Niou broke his chopsticks in half. "All of that," he drawled, "may push the limits of a school dance budget."

"The exhibition match made a lot of money," she pointed out. "Like a lot a lot a lot of money."

"I know," he scoffed. "I did the math for you, genius. Remember?"

"Oh. Right." To keep from saying other stupid things, she ate some of her noodles.

Niou tilted his head. "You liked running the exhibition match. You like being on student council." He turned his teacup in his hand. "Don't you."

She blinked. Said, "Well. Well… yeah. I guess I do. Some parts." She paused. "I guess I like planning things. Organizing them, executing them. And I like figuring out the best solutions for problems. As for dealing with all the people… I don't exactly like it, but it's easy for me. It's so _easy _to manage people." Her eyelids lowered.

The laughter. She could hear Takada's laughter, so bright, so unnerving. But she could also see him lying paralyzed on the ground.

"Except for when it's not," she finished in a whisper.

Niou rubbed his jaw. Said neutrally, "Like with Kirigaoka."

"Yeah. Yeah, I was just thinking about that. I just—" She froze. Stared at him. "Wait," she said slowly. "Wait. How do you know about Kirigaoka?"

* * *

So I submitted a few scenes from this story and won a position as an assistant teacher at a creative writing camp. YAY.

Thanks everybody for all your reviews and suggestions! They mean a lot to me. About two hours ago I was deadset against ever showing anyone this chapter ever, but I figured what the hell. Still pretty rough, but hey. We'll see where it goes from here?

A special prize to whoever can guess what Niou whispered in Sayoko's ear!

Disclaimer: I do not own _Prince of Tennis_, or Green River Ordinance's "Resting Hour" (lyrics at the top), or Katy Perry's "Part of Me" (lyrics in the beginning), or Walk the Moon's "Anna Sun" (lyrics in the middle).


	39. I'm Worn By the War in Me

Author's Note: Mad props if you actually remember where we're at in the story. I sure didn't. Also really nothing below has been edited hahahaaaaaa

* * *

**250 Dark Stars**

_(Every war was another seed_

_That could feed every soul in need_

_Oh, I'm worn by the war in me)_

...

"_How _do you know about Kirigaoka, Niou-senpai?" Sayoko repeated.

Niou considered a number of responses, before just considering her. Sayoko's rain-darkened hair hung in front of but could not obscure her eyes. She could use that gaze as a tool, but often it divulged those things she'd rather keep private. Those eyes had been been how he'd tracked her affection for him: the initial interest, the growing adoration, and ultimately, her love: that huge, heavy thing he still had no idea what to do with.

He'd always known how she felt before she had, had always been a step ahead. Those eyes were coefficients in the equation of Sayoko: something tangible to work with in the face of an endless stream of variables.

He didn't like to acknowledge how often she was now a variable in his own equation.

Presently, her eyes spoke of confusion and wariness, as well as a lingering fear. Fear of Kirigaoka. Fear of Takada Shouta.

Something stirred in his chest. Years ago, in a fit of theatricality, his sister had observed that not blood but the waters of dark ocean depths flowed in his veins, creatures that had never seen the light of day carried in the current.

_Sea __monsters, _Kaito had laughed, clapping pudgy toddler hands, _there are sea monsters inside you, Niisan._

Niou rubbed his thumb along his jaw, knowing that Sayoko was too caught up to notice. He knew her mind was racing, generating plausible scenarios, explanations, reasons. Sayoko had always been clever. In a girl whose existence was shaped by another person, it was one of only a few features that couldn't be dismissed or lessened or ground to dust by that person's will.

Yukimura didn't want a _stupid _little sister.

Niou said levelly, "I've always known about Kirigaoka." He'd always known about Kirigaoka since it had _mattered_, since Takada Shouta had appeared out of nowhere, giving Kirigaoka the means to reach Nationals two years ago. Niou had taken one look at him and known.

Known it like he'd known cold and sleeplessness and that the reflection in the mirror was his own.

The non-answer did not satisfy her, as he'd known it wouldn't. Usually he threw out non-answers to bait her, to watch her eyes light up and her cheeks flush, but now he was stalling for time, something he normally felt he had too much of: time to reflect, time to assess, time to grow _bored_.

Time to alleviate that boredom in whatever way suited him at that particular instance.

These days, however, he was rarely bored around Sayoko, who was not rising to the bait. Wordlessly she regarded him, aware her own silence could prompt him to break his. Sayoko was always at her best when she listened to herself.

The rain fell. Their tea cooled. Their food sat forgotten, the chopsticks abandoned like burned-out incense.

Finally: "Yanagi mentioned you asked about them. For you to do that, they must have rattled you pretty badly whenever you encountered them, which all signs point to being at the exhibition match. If you were disconcerted enough to ask Yanagi, I'm betting—though I haven't checked to confirm this—that you went and watched the footage of when we played them at Nationals."

And he knew what she'd seen: her brother's merciless victory over Takada Shouta. The borderline vindictive manner in which he'd reduced the other boy to a prone, paralyzed figure collapsed on the baseline, discarded like a broken toy.

The way her lips parted soundlessly proved him correct, though he'd never had any doubt.

Those lips formed words. "He hates me." She was looking at Niou but not seeing him, looking past him in a way that made him itch, made him want to snap his fingers before her face, say something to make her cry. Whatever it took to make her see him again. He'd always despised that she saw him as often as she did, but now—

Now greed mingled with that resentment, greed and something almost like desperation, and all these things together formed something bright and hot and hazy, something that expressed itself in a myriad of ways but always had an underlying current of

_Look at me, look away, look at me, look away, look at me look at me look. What do you see? I don't want to know what you see._

Her hands shook. "I understand why Takada hates my brother. And I understand why, by extension, he would hate me. But he doesn't—he doesn't hate me by extension. I mean, maybe he does, but… but he also hates _me_." Now her voice shook as well, and Niou wanted to punch something. "Just me. Not me by extension, not me as Oniisan's little sister."

Her eyes were huge and lost and not drowning but already drowned, submerged and sunken like treasure lost at sea. She said, "He hates _me_, and I don't understand why."

She was still looking at Niou but now she looked at him and she saw him and she asked, softly, "Why does he hate me?"

Because one thing she did understand was that Niou understood. Niou understood perfectly, and it was killing him.

That thing stirred again in his chest, more insistently this time, thrashing about. (_Sea monsters, _Kaito had laughed, _sea monsters_—)

"Sayoko," said Niou slowly, lingering over each syllable, over the familiarity of the name and the girl attached. To him she had always been Sayoko, never Yukimura's sister. She was more _interesting _than her brother, who was not _x_, _y, _or _z _but simply _was_. He didn't adapt to anything, wasn't influenced by anything. Even his illness hadn't really left a mark. Until Yukimura matured into a real human being, he was boring.

But Sayoko, so sensitive and empathic, was _affected _by people, and affected others just as much. She was a paradox. He knew her like the back of his hand and still she could surprise him. She was constant activity and possibility that only sometimes did she express outwardly: she cried and she raged and she laughed and she loved him.

Rarely did Niou dwell on things he was already dead-certain of: he preferred to generate scenarios, to examine all the outliers on a scatter plot. It was peculiar, then, how often Sayoko's love for him was a phantom at the back of his mind. It was there when he lay awake at night, and there when he kissed another girl, and there when he won a match and would not turn to see if Sayoko was watching.

_Look at me, look away, look at me, look away, look at me look at me look._

"Niou-senpai…" Sayoko's wet hair had left dark splotches on her brother's borrowed shirt, and her hands were still shaking. He recalled the feel of those hands slipping under his jersey, tracing the contours of his body. Recalled that he'd felt exposed and vulnerable in a way he'd never felt before, and had _hated _it, but had relished the press of her against him, her lips her hips her hair, the wanting finally being acknowledged—

He slid his gaze to the right, out the window. He didn't actually want to explain Takada Shouta to Sayoko, but she needed to understand. They always seemed to be at odds, his wants and her needs, and recently he'd been prioritizing her needs, but knew he couldn't keep it up for long.

Once more, though. He could put her first once more.

He leveled her a look. Said, "Takada doesn't hate you. You don't even think he hates you. You just won't admit to what you actually think." _What you've noticed. _He paused. "But he will hurt you, if you give him the chance."

He could tell she didn't want to understand, didn't want to put it together, but he knew it had been bothering her, knew she'd noticed it but had shoved it away. Sayoko was perceptive. Sayoko could figure it out. Something dawned in her eyes then, but this dawn brought no light, no warmth. The sun was not so much rising as being taken away.

She asked, "The way I've given you the chance?"

He smiled thinly. "Oh, sweetheart," he said. "If only you knew."

She didn't know and would never know, and he would never want her to. But she did understand at least a little: what it was that so frightened her about Takada, and why she associated that with Niou.

They were two sides of the same coin.

Niou had sensed it from the very first time he'd seen Takada at Nationals, and had observed it in how the other boy played. The dark boy's temperament was electric where Niou's was chilly, but he had the same drive as Niou, the drive that almost no one else he'd encountered shared:

To break things.

Energy could neither be created nor destroyed, but there _was _creation in the breaking, in the destruction, and when it was destruction by design, as Niou's and Takada's was, you could create what you wanted, create whatever would interest or entertain you, or just make you feel _good_.

It was not at all Kirihara's obsession with crushing people: that was a different beast entirely, one fueled by anger and arrogance and fear and bent on ripping things apart, on blasting them to smithereens, on burning burning burning. Whatever happened as a result wasn't important. Kirihara's destruction called for the whole world's attention, for the whole world to be caught up in the chaos.

Niou's and Takada's was quieter, defter, and motivated by something entirely different: an appreciation for irony, for beauty, and most of all, for potential. The potential of a situation to, with a few judiciously placed comments, dissolve into something far different and far, far uglier, with no one exactly understanding why.

The potential of a person to be extraordinary. The potential to break that same person, reduce her to something entirely of your own design. Make beauty out of the rubble, art out of the ashes.

Sayoko was still looking at him.

Takada hated Yukimura for what he'd done to him, yes, but he'd immediately fixated on Sayoko not because of who she was related to but who she _was_: a girl who so clearly could hold the world in the palm of her hand. A girl who, because of that, would be more appealing if she were crushed in the palm of his.

And Niou _understood_. Understood what it was to look at Sayoko and see someone so lovely, so promising, and so vulnerable that you couldn't bear to let her go on like that. Couldn't stop yourself from prying at those too-visible fault-lines until she fell to pieces.

Couldn't keep from ripping that huge, exposed heart from her chest and cutting it into patterns.

"I don't…" Sayoko shook her head as if to shake the thoughts from it. "That's not… I don't under_stand_."

"You do," he pointed out in a tone that was not soft but had never been softer than it was right then. "You just don't want to."

"You're not the same as Takada," she told him stubbornly. She hugged her arms to her chest as if suddenly cold. "He's—I don't know what he is, but he's not _you_. He's scary, he's _awful_, I _hate _him, and—and I love you," she whispered. "I love you. You know that. You _know_."

"I know," he replied, his voice almost low enough to match her whisper.

Her shoulders hunched; her hair fell forward. "And you wouldn't hurt me." Her voice was miserable. "You wouldn't."

Never the way Takada might. The dark boy's temperament could, Niou suspected, lend itself to any number of things, even physical violence. Niou could examine all possibilities, could predict outcomes, and in none would he ever strike Sayoko. The thought was acid; the thought was arsenic. But…

"I have hurt you," he reminded her. "Sometimes unintentionally, and sometimes intentionally. You know that."

As far as Sayoko went, the impulse to break was tempered by his affection for her and aggravated by her love for him. Tempered because Sayoko was so important to Niou that sometimes he hurt when she did, something he was so unaccustomed to and so despised that he tried desperately to avoid hurting her.

Aggravated because she loved and trusted and admired him so recklessly, with such complete abandon, that he felt she was _asking _for it, asking too much of him. He couldn't have so much power over her and not use it, not explore all the possibilities of how and what he could make her feel, what she would and would not let him do to her.

_You shouldn't love me, _he told her silently, his face expressionless as hers became more and more distraught. He possessed none of the qualities she needed right now: he was not warm or supportive, not gentle or selfless. She could make him behave that way very much despite himself, bu his nature was, in fact, the opposite: cold and aloof and selfish, so selfish.

Which was why he was having so much trouble letting her go. The catch-22 was that if he'd had the strength of character to let her go, he probably wouldn't have had to let her go in the first place: he would have been what she needed, instead of the exact opposite.

_You trust me too much. You may know you're special to me, but you don't know in what way._

The cognitive dissonance was exhausting: the idea of Takada or anyone else hurting her made him furious, a simple, shining emotion almost entirely alien to him. It was why he so deeply resented her relationship with her brother. Sayoko was precious to Niou, and he knew she was precious to Yukimura too, but almost entirely because she was his sister, not because he actually knew her.

Not because he saw, as Niou did, the person she could become.

That person, Niou suspected, he himself could love, and would love if he ever encountered her. But she would never become that person if he and Yukimura were around. Yukimura would keep unintentionally smothering her potential, and Niou would keep intentionally—if, in his own way, reluctantly—knocking her over. Occasionally helping her back up didn't negate that.

As it was, Sayoko was not that person yet, and Niou neither knew nor cared if he loved her. If he did love her, it was in a sick, stunted way, inconsequential in the face of her love for him: pure, powerful, and unconditional. She deserved love strong enough to match her own, and until they both changed, he couldn't and didn't care to offer it to her.

Despite how much she now needed him, she would be far, far better off without him.

He'd made a concerted effort to be better for her lately: to restrain those comments that would make her cry, redirect those looks that would make her cringe. He respected her determination to become stronger, knew she eventually would.

Just not in the environment he and her brother had created for her.

Finally he told her, his voice quiet: "I'm not trying to scare you." _If you'll let me, I can keep Takada from hurting you, but I can't make any promises as for myself._

He'd expected her to curl in even further on herself, or even to get up and throw her arms around him, bury her face in his chest. He would have let her, even in this public (if nearly empty) restaurant, would have stroked her hair and hushed her and given her all the time she needed.

Instead she sat up and pushed back her hair and lifted her chin. She wasn't mimicking her brother, wasn't modeling his positive behavior. Instead she was regarding Niou with an expression that was sad but might also have been angry, but above all was resolute. She said, "What, but I should be afraid of you? Is that what you're implying?"

"Of course not." His tone was even. _But you should realize what you're dealing with. Admit it to yourself._

She shook her head. "I know you think you know me better than I know myself, and maybe that's true. It probably is. But you know what?" She held his gaze with her own. He was not sure if he could or could not look away, if he did or didn't want to. All he knew was she was looking at him.

_Look at me, look away, look at me, look away. Look at me._

"Maybe, in some ways, I know you better than you do. And yeah, you've hurt me." Her voice cracked. "God fucking _damn _it, Niou-senpai, you have hurt me so bad. But I love you. Okay? I _love you_. And you might not think that matters, but I _do_, because—

"Because I wouldn't love you if you were really a bad person. I wouldn't. I _know _that about myself. I know I'm right. I'm not stupid. Remember when you told me I wasn't stupid?" She smiled unhappily. "Well, it turns out I'm actually pretty fucking smart. But you know that, because you know me. And I know _you_. I know you and I love you and I chose _you_, and don't you dare tell me that doesn't matter."

She took a deep, shuddering breath. "Me loving you doesn't make you hurting me okay. It doesn't. I may not be my own biggest fan, but I know I don't deserve to have you hurt me. So… so I don't know. It just—it _sucks_. Everything sucks, and I'm not sure what to do about it, but—

"But you're not the same as Takada. Not _really_. I will never be afraid of you, and I will never let you convince me I should be, because maybe, just this once, I know better than you do." She sighed heavily, and stood up from the table. Gazing down at him, she said sadly, "Just think about that. Okay? Maybe just consider that."

Then she left.

As the door swung shut behind her Niou recalled the feel of his arms around her waist and the burn of her face against his throat, recalled the words he'd whispered soundlessly in her ear:

_You will be the death of me._

(_Sea monsters_, Kaito had laughed, _sea monsters_—)

~x~

Later that evening, An knocked on the Yukimuras' front door. "Is Sayoko home?"

"She is," Yukimura allowed, absently fingering the smudged brass doorknob, "but she's been in her room since she got home and wouldn't come down for dinner." The words _She's upset _didn't need to be said.

"Oh," said An dimly. "Oh. I shouldn't bother her, then. I'll just—"

"Play a set or two with me," bade Yukimura lightly. "There's still enough light out, and the weather's nice. There's a street court place not far from here."

An really, _really _did not feel like playing tennis. "Yukimura-senpai, thank you so much for the offer, but I really don't want to take up any of your time. You must be really—"

"I have a French assignment I would very much like to put off working on," he replied, smiling easily. "You would be doing me a favor."

What exactly could she _say _to that? "Oh," said An faintly. It was all she found herself saying these days. "In that case—yeah. Yes. I'd love to." She should have been working on homework too—she had mountains of it—but had spent her day off lounging listlessly around her aunt's apartment. She didn't have any motivation. She hardly felt _anything_.

After Yukimura had grabbed his things and an old racquet of Sayoko's for her to use, they set off, walking in silence. It was a comfortable silence, save for the fact that both were aware silence was uncharacteristic of An. Some people were playing on the courts when they arrived, but at Yukimura's appearance they cleared off while mumbling greetings and congratulations on Rikkai's latest tournament win.

Yukimura just smiled graciously.

Instead of playing an actual set, they just rallied back and forth, trading light, floating forehands and backhands. An was wearing leggings, a T-shirt, and sneakers, so her movement was unimpeded, yet still she couldn't work up the energy to move more than a few feet in any direction. With impeccable precision, Yukimura always hit it exactly within her strike-zone.

Over the soft _thwack _of the racquets, he said quietly, "You don't have to tell me what's bothering you, An. But you can."

Her next shot went sailing into the net. She made no move to retrieve the ball. Instead she said softly, "But I don't… I don't _know_. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before. I've never not—I don't know. I used to care too much, and now I feel like I don't care at all."

"That's a rather extreme shift," he said lightly, considering her from across the net, "especially when one doesn't even exist. You can never care _too _much."

Yukimura, An knew, lived by that: he could never care too much about tennis. Could never be too invested in it, devoted to it. Would never not place it before someone or something else. And it had worked for him, hadn't it? It had paid off. He was the best high school tennis player in the nation.

But was he happy?

Looking at him, with those angel-blue eyes and that serene smile, you would never know. Could never begin to know. Did _he _even know if he was happy? She shook her head. She had too many questions, too many concerns. But—

She plopped down on the court, fingered its familiar rough texture. Looked at the solid white lines, telling you plainly where to aim, where not to. In, out, in, out. _It's a simple game, _she reminded herself. _Insultingly simple. People are the ones who complicate it._

She said, "That may be true. I guess it all depends on what you want." If to be the very best was what you wanted, then you really couldn't care about tennis too much. Could you?

"Well," said Yukimura, tilting his head artfully, "what do you want?"

That gave her pause. She ran her fingers over the strings of Sayoko's racquet. How long had Sayoko played tennis? Had she done it because she wanted to, or because her brother did? An didn't even know. Moreover, what did An want?

She wasn't good enough to be the best. That hadn't dissuaded her from trying to play _her _best, but she'd never deluded herself into thinking she could go pro. She could probably play the university circuit, but that would be the end of the road.

But none of that answered Yukimura's question. What did she _want_?

She had an idea. A sort of soft, sneaking idea that she didn't yet know how to articulate, and wasn't quite sure she was happy with, but—

"I think," she said slowly, "that I'd like it if you'd play a real set against me, Yukimura-senpai." She smiled a little but not entirely sadly, and he smiled back, and even with all her uncertainty, there were three things she did know: that Yukimura was her friend, truly her friend, and that she loved him, and that she was tired of fighting that. Tired of fighting everything.

Instead she just had to fight those battles that mattered.

* * *

So ummmmm. Hai. I have decided not to apologize for not updating because, you know, college. Yes. But I do think I can at least update a little more regularly now? Except the thing is that, as I envision it now, this story has one more chapter, and then a sequel.

YES I KNOW YOU'RE CONFUSED.

Just stay with me. I have like. Sort of an idea what I'm doing. Sort of. This story has just been such a sprawling mess that me me imposing direction on it makes more sense in the form of a sequel. To me, at least. And there will be a major change that entails a sequel! (Marui gets bitten by a radioactive spider. It's gonna be intense.)

So yeah. I just wanted to say thank youuuuu for all the lovely, lovely reviews. I honestly would not be updating if I hadn't idly gone back and read some of the reviews and gotten really emotional. So yeah. Yeah.

Disclaimer: I do not own _Prince of Tennis_, or Katie Herzig's "Lost and Found" (lyrics at the top).


	40. You Love Her When You Let Her Go

Author's Note: Not entirely happy with what's below, but heyyyy

* * *

**250 Dark Stars**

_(Only know you've been high when you're feeling low_

_Only hate the road when you're missing home_

_Only know you love her when you let her go)_

...

"Shimizu-fukubuchou?"

Shimizu, a spoonful of pudding in her mouth, said quite intelligently, "Mrfglefeh."

"By which she means," Marui chimed in, adopting a high grating tone that was _not at all _like Shimizu's, "'Hello, Tachibana An, dear kouhai of mine. How are you today? How were you yesterday? And how will you be tomorrow? If you don't know, guess, and may the odds be ever in your favor.'"

"What I actually mean," Shimizu said, swallowing, "is that I won't let you immediately go ahead and challenge Katsuragi for the Singles Two seed, and I won't apologize for pulling you from that tournament match, if that's what you're here for."

"Tsubame-chan doesn't apologize for anything," Marui agreed, nodding. "Not even that time she made me late to one of my piano recitals because she—"

"We promised never to speak of that day," interjected Shimizu darkly.

"So we did," he acknowledged complacently, "so we did." His bright violet eyes slid between her and An, whose posture was uncharacteristically hesitant: shoulders somewhat hunched, one foot toeing the tiled floor. Pushing off against the wall he'd been leaning on, he said, "I'll go see what Sayoko-chan's up to. I haven't seen her today—she's probably desolate."

"Sayoko's not at school today, Marui-senpai. Her brother said she wasn't feeling well."

"Maybe she's allergic to rain," he mused, glancing out the hallway window at the overcast sky. "Ah well. I'll have to grace someone else with my presence. Jackal perhaps. Or Sanada, he always seems to be crying out for attention and human contact…" On that note he ambled away, munching on a half-eaten apple.

"Well?" Shimizu asked once he had turned a corner. "What is it, then, Tachibana?"

An released a slow, soft breath through her teeth and admitted, "I'm not sure. I've just been thinking, I guess."

"Oh good," Shimizu deadpanned. "That always solves things."

An forged ahead despite the chilly reception, which Shimizu respected. "It's just that lately I've been wondering what I'm trying to achieve with my tennis. Whether I was right in transferring to Rikkai. It was an impulse decision, you know? I figured I might as well join the best team in the nation. But I didn't really—I didn't really understand what it meant to be the best. What it took."

"So what are you saying? That you want to quit?"

An ran a hand through her hair, fingering the ends as she looked at the ground. If the sun had been out, its light would have backlit her. "No," she said after a beat. "No, I don't want to quit. I've just been thinking a lot about what I want now, but also what I wanted _then_. When I transferred. To be on the best team… I'm not sure that it's what I would choose now. Now that I know what it entails."

She looked up. Her blue-gray eyes were steady. "But I chose this, and I committed to it, and—and you've been a really great teammate," she said earnestly. "All of you. I've only been focusing on myself, on being a better player… but I think now I'm ready to be a better teammate. To think of the team before myself. I want us to win Nationals, Shimizu-fukubuchou, and I'll do what it takes to make that happen."

Shimizu crossed her arms. "What if it takes me relegating you to the bench for the rest of the season?" As An visibly tried to restrain a wince, she smiled a little. "Though that's probably not what it'll take. You're a damn good player, Tachibana, and I'm glad you came to this school." She paused. "You said that this is what you chose, but if you were to choose now… would you still choose this? Choose Rikkai?"

An tugged at her green-and-white-striped tie. Her expression was neither happy nor unhappy, only distant. "I… don't know. I like it here. I like the people I've met, and I even feel—in some ways I even feel like I fit. You know? But in some ways I feel like I don't. If I could choose again…" She lifted a shoulder in a shrug.

"Well, I can't choose again, can I? All I can do is make the best of it."

"And there you have it," Shimizu nodded, relieved the other girl had come to that conclusion. An's self-doubt had almost inspired doubt in her: in herself, in her tennis, in the way she ran the team. Almost. "I'm no good at dispensing wise, life-altering advice. You've got Yukimura Seiichi for that. All I know is we're at Rikkai, and when you're at Rikkai, you're here to win."

"'Take what you can and give nothing back,'" An said softly. "Pirates' code."

"'Any man that falls behind gets left behind,'" Shimizu agreed, before slinging an arm around the other girl's neck. "Luckily for us, Tachibana, we're not men."

"But we are pirates," she replied, and began chattering about parrots and sabers and how they should turn one of the high referee chairs into a crow's nest.

Shimizu, only half-listening, realized that Tachibana An, all of a sudden, had grown a little bit older, a little bit wiser, and a little bit sadder, but for the most part—

She was back.

~x~

Later that afternoon, as it began to drizzle, Ishikawa Ren decided he was glad he'd ended Kirigaoka's practice early. Having his regulars hit against the ball-machines in the gym had been enough; there was no sense risking anyone slipping on the slick courts.

Not when they'd already made it this far. Not when they were already this close. He'd never been able to decide which was more satisfying, victory or vengeance, so it was wonderfully convenient when the two coincided.

After changing into street clothes, the team exited Kirigaoka's tennis complex and were passing by the main school building to go their separate ways when one of them, Kobayashi Sousuke, slowed, his eyebrows drawing together. "Hey, Ishikawa-buchou," he called over one broad shoulder, "that girl over there—isn't that…?"

It was. Yukimura Seiichi's younger sister stood before a sign pointing the way to the athletic fields, a look of dim uncertainty on her face. She didn't seem to realize the dark jacket she wore had a hood; her long hair curled and frizzed in the light rain.

"That girl," Ishikawa said to no one in particular, "is lucky she's hot, because she must be dumb as a sack of rocks." Stupid to come to Kirigaoka in the first place, and thrice stupider still to come alone.

He swore he _felt _Takada notice her.

Sayoko turned just as Takada moved forward to stand before the rest of the regulars. Even across that distance, she visibly blanched at the sight of him, and only him; she saw none of the others, not really. Ishikawa knew because this had happened before, had happened several times over, but never had it had such a sense of urgency, of inevitability, of hopelessness.

Takada smiled.

Ishikawa knew he had to act. Quickly dismissing the other regulars, he followed a few paces behind as Takada advanced on the stone-still girl. He knew better than to truly interfere—to say he had any real authority over Takada would be laughable—but neither could he risk leaving the other boy completely to his own devices.

He would not let Takada do anything to get Kirigaoka disqualified.

"Sayoko-chan," said the dark boy brightly, stopping less than a foot from her. "You took a train to Shizuoka just to see me? That's touching. Really touching. I think I'm about to tear up."

She didn't reply. Her hands hung limply at her sides as she just stared at him. Peered at him, really. She seemed to be searching for something, trying to confirm something. Perhaps what Ishikawa suspected she already knew, and what he himself certainly knew for sure:

That there was something in Takada, something savage and sick, that belonged not in a boy but in a nightmare.

It was why he was Kirigaoka's most valuable player.

"Sayoko-chan." Ishikawa smiled pleasantly even as neither one turned toward him. "Are you here to spy on us? Given our previous encounter, I'd been under the impression you frowned upon that." He was trying to diffuse the situation, but it was futile: neither seemed even to _hear _him. Dread was heavy in his stomach; he didn't know what he'd do if Takada actually got out of hand.

"What _are _you doing here?" Takada inquired softly, moving just a tiny bit closer. The temperature dropped and oxygen became scarce. He tilted his head. "Sa-yo-ko-chan."

"I." She swallowed. "I don't… know."

Ishikawa believed her. The shadows under her eyes spoke of a sleepless night, of tossing and turning. Of monsters under the bed. She clearly didn't understand what had compelled her to seek Takada out, but then, none of the others had, not until it was too late. Takada was a predator who both repelled and attracted his prey, leaving them stuck in limbo, at his mercy.

_You are so lovely, _Ishikawa told her silently. _Lovely and long gone._

Her fate had been decided the moment Takada had seen her that first time. In the roughly three years Ishikawa had known him, he'd seen Takada play this game over and over, but never had he latched on so quickly, so intently.

Clearly he saw something in Sayoko, something he either didn't like and thus wanted to eradicate, or else something he liked so much he wanted to destroy it so no one else could ever see it. So it—the memory of it—would be his alone.

(Except that probably wasn't true, not in this case. Ishikawa had gotten the same feeling from that Niou Masaharu that he got from Takada, and there was talk he was involved with Yukimura's sister. That he hadn't devastated the girl the way Takada craved to do was then peculiar, but perhaps Niou was the more frightening of the two because of the _control _he had over himself.)

Takada just kept smiling down at her. The rain misting in his hair made it look like fresh black ink splashed on the canvas of his face. His body curved toward hers in a way that was attentive and almost protective, as if he were prepared to spring in front of her, shield her from danger. As if there were something out there that bore her more ill will than he did.

Her lips parted; her mouth worked. "I… you…" She took a deep shuddering breath, as if she'd otherwise drown. "What my brother did to you…"

"Ah." He tilted his head. His voice was velvet and venom when he asked, "Here to apologize on his behalf?"

Slowly, slowly, she shook her head. "No, my brother, he…"

With all the suddenness of a gunshot, Takada clapped his hands together once. She flinched as if he'd struck her. "Right, right, of course you're right," he trilled in a garish sing-song. "Your brother can't do anything wrong, can he? Can't commit a sin? He's the Child of God." Cupping her cheek in one hand, he leaned forward to ask lowly, "So aren't you as well? Sayoko-chan?"

She mouthed the word _No_.

Takada laughed with delight. It was a hideous, hypnotic sound. Letting his hand drop from her face, he reached inside his jacket and procured a switchblade, flicking it open with a soft _thwick_.

Ishikawa felt like he was going to throw up. Sayoko looked like she was going to.

Takada flipped the blade around and around with deft skill until it was it was a whirring blur of silver, liquid like the rain. He said conversationally, "I think what you're trying to ask me is whether I intend to get back at your brother in some way. Do I? Don't I? It's a good question." His smile was sin. "What do you think?"

As he let the knife's spinning slow, the spell that had held her still, held her captive, broke; she took a stumbling step backwards, then another, and another, as if he would sink the knife between her shoulder-blades if she turned her back.

"Go ahead and run home, Sayoko-chan," Takada said softly, soothingly. "Before it gets dark out."

He didn't have to tell her twice.

As Yukimura Sayoko disappeared from sight, Ishikawa released the breath he'd been holding, though his lungs still felt tight and his legs like a newborn's. Takada didn't tear his gaze from the direction Sayoko had gone as he asked brightly, "She's wonderful, isn't she? Really something."

_Lovely, _Ishikawa thought again, distantly and with some measure of pity. _Lovely, and long gone._

~x~

It was an hour-long train ride from Shizuoka to Yokohama, and thirty minutes in the rain began to fall in earnest. Sayoko remembered a similar train ride, long ago, as her family had traveled this same rail-line to spend a week at Lake Hamanako.

_Will it still be raining when we get there? _seven-year-old Sayoko had asked anxiously, biting the fingernails of one hand while tugging at her pastel pink dress with the other. She _hated _getting wet.

_Don't worry, _her brother had said with all the wisdom that came from being a full year older. He'd spoken without looking at her, his gaze cast out the window, but he had reached out and touched her shoulder, letting it rest there a moment the way a monarch would lay a scepter upon a newly annointed knight. _The rain will stop soon._

And it had, because her brother had told her it would.

But her brother was not there, not now, and the rain would not stop, and Sayoko just sat there and stared out the window, her arms hugged 'round herself, too scared and shaken to cry. She thought of the dark shine of Takada's eyes, the sickness and sweetness of his smile. The ringing wrongness of his laughter.

That laughter had plagued her through the night, had plagued her since she'd spoken with Niou. Since she'd looked at him and _seen _him, or at least a shadow of him, a specter, the ghost of a boy that could not be a ghost because he'd never _lived _and so could not have died, but was there as something that had never come to pass. The ghost of a life never lived.

A life where Niou had a different temperament, different history, different environment. A life where he could have been someone like Takada.

There was the potential there, the possibility. She'd seen that, realized that the way Takada reminded her of Niou wasn't just arbitrary. But neither was it substantial. That was what had ultimately driven her to Chubu: to reassure herself that she wasn't in love with the same sort of person she so feared.

And she now knew she wasn't. Niou and Takada shared something, it was true, but it did not _matter_. All that mattered was what she'd felt in her stomach, in her bones, in her lungs:

Takada's madness.

He was mad. He was mad, and Sayoko was terrified.

But what could she do? What could she fucking _do_, she of all people? She was just Sayoko, just herself. Pathetic, useless, dead-weight, a screwup, and tired, so tired, tired in every corner of her heart, every bone in her body, every scrap of herself she had cobbled back together after every time she had fallen apart.

She was tired. Tired of falling apart, tired of being scared, tired of feeling helpless. Tired of trying to change. Tired of feeling like she needed to change.

The last time she'd felt this tired had been her third year of middle school. She'd been all alone at Rikkai Dai Junior High, but it would have been just as bad to still be in the same school as her brother. They'd never gotten past her refusal to visit him at the hospital, and every interaction at home had been a miserable aching thing, a wounded animal too weak to slink away and die quietly. And what had she done about that?

She'd applied for a national scholarship. Gone off to America for her first year of high school.

At the time she'd thought of it as running away, but… something occurred to her now, a slow sort of sneaking suspicion, spreading like sunlight, growing in conviction. She recalled the ghost of the boy Niou could have been, if he'd had a different environment. She thought:

_Maybe it's not me that needs to change, at least not entirely. Maybe it's my surroundings._

But… so what? What was she going to do, go back to America? It was too late to apply for study abroad, and—

And Takada. Takada with his madness and his switchblade and his eyes that glowed like those of a wild animal in the dark. She could not just up and leave the country knowing that he was out there nursing a vendetta against her brother.

But if neither could she stay, where did she go from here?

She thought about it for the remainder of the train ride, and then on the bus back home, and then, tucked safely away in the warmth of her room, having explained to her parents and brother that she'd been feeling better and gone to the library, she sent an email.

~x~

Kirihara turned on his heel. "All right, Tachibana, I give. What the hell do you think you're doing, following me these past three days?"

An had, in fact, been following him for the past four days, ever since she'd told Shimizu that she'd commit to what was best for the team. Yet she said complacently, "Pretty self-important, isn't it? To think I'd take the time to follow you around."

Kirihara looked pointedly down at himself, at her, and then at their surroundings, which were right by the entrance to the men's restroom, where she had been waiting for him. "You're right," he deadpanned. "Clearly I deluded myself into thinking you followed me here when actually you're just on a self-guided tour of the world's urinals. For your next stop I recommend the ones in Serbian public parks. They get good online reviews."

An, her hands clasped behind her, just rocked back on her heels and smiled a little.

He sneered with equal parts weariness and disgust. "Could you not _smile _at me like that? When we both know the next second you'll start screaming at me about something or other. I'm sick of this game."

"I am too," she said softly, though it hadn't been a game. Never a game with him.

Kirihara dipped his head to regard her suspiciously. His curls tumbled into his eyes, and her fingers itched to push this back. She kept her hands behind her back. She had forfeited the right to touch him.

"I just wanted to say that—"She paused. "The reason I've been following you… well, I guess that's just it. I don't really know. I've been trying to figure out what I'm trying to say."

"'I'm sorry' comes to mind,'" he snarked.

Once she might have snarled a retort back at him. Now she only laughed a little, and without much humor. "But would you accept it?" When he didn't answer, she went on, "I am sorry for how I've been behaving. But at this point… I don't think that's really what matters. Really what I want to say is—

"I think I finally, truly forgive you now. For what you did to my brother."

He blinked once, paused. Then said flatly: "I never asked for your forgiveness."

"But I'm giving it to you anyway. It's your lucky day, huh?" When his lips didn't even twitch, she let her tentative smile drop from her face. "Don't you want to know why?"

"Why you've been generous enough to grace me with your holy forgiveness?" He sneered without venom. "Not really, no."

She told him anyway. "What you did sucked," she told him frankly. "But you know what? I've done a lot of sucky things too, and so has the rest of the whole goddamned world. And I'm tired of being angry about that. And also," she said simply, "for what it's worth—and I don't know that it's worth much to you at this point, but—

"I think you're pretty okay. When it all comes down to it."

"… You think I'm pretty okay," he repeated tonelessly.

"Yeah," she replied, her smile warm like it had been soaking up sun. "Like, you know." She could only shrug, and say again, "Pretty okay."

"Well," he said, and if his voice now held a tone, she couldn't identify it, "you were right. That's not really worth much to me at this point."

An would have been a fool if she hadn't seen that coming. That didn't mean it didn't still hurt, but— "Okay," she replied. "That's okay."

Her feelings for him—her forgiveness, her renewed fondness—had only really fully formed when she'd put them into words. She hadn't expected them, but wasn't surprised by them either. She just accepted them, and suspected (hoped) that in time he would, too. But she wouldn't make him, not now. She was tired of forcing things.

He squinted at her, and opened his mouth, and seemed about to say something. All he said, eventually, was "Okay."

"Pretty okay," she agreed, smiling her small sun-soaked smile. It felt good on her face, warming her from the inside out.

He opened his mouth again—then threw his hands up. "I will not," he declared, "do this with you right now." On that note he turned on his heel once more and walked away with that loping stride of his. Distantly An remembered that stride had been one of the first things she'd recognized him by, her very first day at Rikkai. When she'd realized they'd be in class together.

Her smile grew a little wider, a little warmer. Despite her recent doubt as to whether coming to Rikkai and joining its tennis team had been the best decision… she still couldn't bring herself to _regret _it, not really. Whether or not it had been the best decision, it was the one she'd made, and she couldn't imagine where she'd be right now if she'd made a different one.

She was absorbed in thoughts in that vein on her way back to the classroom, and so didn't notice that Sayoko had stepped into her path until she almost bumped into the other girl. "Oh," she said, blinking, and then: "Hey. What's up?"

Sayoko had returned to school after spending only a single day out sick, but ever since she'd been quiet and distant, as if still recovering. She'd never even said what she'd been sick with, and An hadn't wanted to pry. She was trying to learn to respect other people's boundaries more. If Sayoko wanted to tell her something, she would.

And it seemed, actually, like she was about to do just that. "Do you want to go outside with me for a little bit?"

"We don't have much time before class starts again…"

"It's all right." Sayoko tugged absently on a lock of hair. "I'll explain to Sensei. We won't get in trouble, don't worry."

An wasn't worried—not about that. Sayoko could and had gotten them out of all sorts of trouble in the past with a few dazzle-smiles and judiciously placed comments. No, she was worried about the strange request, about Sayoko's withdrawn behavior. About the dread pooling in her stomach.

She followed Sayoko outside, into the main courtyard.

The sun was high overhead, the flowers in full bloom. It was a vibrant scene, full of color and life, and against this backdrop Sayoko seemed almost to be an anachronism, a silent movie star plucked from a black-and-white film and dropped into a technicolor blockbuster. Even her eyes seemed less blue than usual.

Sayoko pushed herself up onto a ledge, swung her legs back and forth slowly, like a child. She said, "Do you remember when you first transferred here? I despised you. I'm not exaggerating." Her voice was matter-of-fact, if soft. "I wanted you to drop off the face of the earth. You were everything I wanted to be, and I hated you for it."

An didn't know what to say.

"But, you know." Sayoko waved a hand anemically. "Irony and all that. It's just—I'm really happy you came to Rikkai, you know? I really admire you for making the decision to transfer. If you hadn't… I don't know. I don't even know how things would have turned out. All I know is you're the best friend I've ever had." She said it without sentimentality, without emphasis. Just a statement of fact.

That made it worth so much more.

"And so…" Sayoko smiled a little. She really could have been in a silent movie: she didn't need words, not really. A smile could say so much more.

Yet still she spoke. Said, "That's why I wanted you to be the first person to know I'm transferring to Hyotei."

~x~

"I don't understand."

"I know you don't," said Sayoko softly. It was later that evening, and she was trying to explain to her brother why she was transferring. An had received the news with sadness but acceptance and support. But her brother…

He sat in a living room armchair as if were a throne on a dais raised up so high her voice couldn't even reach him. He shook his head slowly, his lips set in a thin line. "Tell me what this is really about. Why would you want to transfer? Where is this coming from? You've never shown any interest in Hyotei before."

"I want," Sayoko began, before sucking in a deep, steadying breath. She was standing before him the way a defendant would to plead a case before a judge. Sweat trickled down the back of her neck; her hands shook. "It's not that I want to go to Hyotei specifically. It's just—I don't want to go to Rikkai anymore. I don't. I can't… it's killing me. It's killing me, Oniisan. No matter what I do here, I'm stuck. I don't want to be stuck anymore. I can't take being stuck anymore."

Her brother did not respond or move or even blink. He just looked at her, his gaze heavy like an anchor, pulling her down, down, down.

(And she was reaching reaching reaching—)

She shook her head. "Oniisan," she murmured sadly. She couldn't speak any louder; she felt like she was suffocating. "I'm sorry. I know you feel like I was keeping this from you, but I wasn't. It just only occurred to me a few days ago, and so I got in contact with Atobe-san to see if he could help me make it happen, and I had to send in a rush application, and I did ask for Mom and Dad's permission, but I didn't want to tell you until it was final, I didn't… I just…"

She hung her head. Said again, "I'm sorry."

_I love you, and I'm sorry. _

"Sayoko…" He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. "Sayoko, I know you don't feel I've done well by you. Sometimes I don't feel I have either." His voice grew just a shade quieter. "But have I done so badly that you feel like you have to leave home? Am I that terrible?"

He dropped his hands. Asked, " Am I? Tell me that, Sayoko."

"No," she cried, moving forward to drop to her knees before him. "No, Oniisan, no, no. Oh, God, please, you can't think that, no. I love you, I love you," she took his hands, "I love you, Oniisan, please, know that. I… I just…" She peered up into his face. Whispered, "This isn't about you. It's… it's about me. Please understand. This is about me."

_It's selfish, but... I'm doing something for myself._

He was still just looking at her, just _looking_, so she said again, pleadingly, as her eyes filled up with tears, "This is about me, not you. Don't you understand? Oniisan. Please. Don't you understand?"

He didn't understand. Couldn't even begin to.

Fear froze the blood in her veins. If he told her not to leave, she wouldn't go. Wouldn't be able to bring herself to. Even if he only asked her to stay, she wouldn't have the strength to deny him.

But he said only, "If this is what you want, Sayoko."

His hands were in hers. His eyes were millions of miles away.

She cried as she packed her stuff into the car an hour later, and she cried as her father drove her to Tokyo, cried silently, the tears clinging to her eyelashes like morning dew to grass. She wept as her father pretended not to notice, wept as her heart broke and the city lights blurred and her mind emptied, emptied, emptied but for one thought:

_I'm free._

She was free, and she was going to make the most of it.

* * *

End of story whatttt. The sequel, **Kick Drum Hearts**, starts up where this leaves off, no time-gap or anything, and a lot of what you may be confused about will be explained there. I just really need a new vehicle to get this story going again: Sayoko really was stuck in Rikkai. She couldn't grow in that environment.

Things to look forward to in **KDH**:

- An gets her shit togetherrrr  
- Sayoko gets her shit togetherrr  
- the boys actually get to develop as characterssss

So yeah. Thank you everyone for your wonderful support!

Disclaimer: I do not own _Prince of Tennis_, or Passenger's "Let Her Go" (lyrics at the top).


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